Changing the Past, Finding a Future
by carthagegirl
Summary: When Christine loses her memory, Erik is given a second chance to make her love him. But will his rival find her and make her remember the past? RC mostly,some EC
1. Madame de Chagny

A/N: I own absolutely nothing. If I did, I wouldn't have to spend the rest of my life paying off school loans. I love hearing what people think, so please review!

Christine de Chagny tip-toed across the floor to the wooden rocking chair near the window of the nursery. In it sat her husband Raoul, holding their infant son. Christine was unsure whether it was he who produced the light snoring or the baby. It was a serenely peaceful scene, the two of them asleep. Christine walked to the white bassinet and removed the soft blue blanket that lay inside. She held it up to her face, inhaling the sweet scent of her son, Christophe. When she and Raoul were married, Christine couldn't imagine loving anyone else as much as she loved him. But when their baby was born, all that changed. Christine discovered that the love she had in her heart wasn't finite; there wasn't a permanent amount that had to be divided among those close to her. Perhaps that's why, despite all the people she loved in her life, she still reserved a small corner of her heart for Erik. Christine chastised herself for thinking about that name. Whenever he came into her mind, Christine felt like she was somehow betraying Raoul. He had risked his life to rescue her, and here she was, thinking about the man who had put them all in danger.

Christine walked to her husband and son and covered them with the blanket. She wrapped her shawl tightly around her and looked around the room. Christine had insisted that the room be painted to resemble the house by the sea where she and Raoul had spent their childhood. Her favorite part was a long red scarf that floated on the invisible, unmoving wind of the wall. Christine had often walked through the room holding Christophe, telling him the story of his parents' past together and how they fell in love. She smiled knowing that it would always be there, a constant reminder. Christine leaned down and placed a light kiss on Raoul's cheek, causing him to stir from his sleep.

"It's a beautiful night. I thought I might go for a walk in the moonlight," she whispered into his ear.

"Alright darling," he replied, half asleep.

Christine giggled quietly. "I shall be back soon. Go back to sleep."

"I love you," he said as she walked away.

Christine stopped in the doorway and turned to look back on her sleeping family, "I love you too."

As Christine approached the front hallway, she was startled by the footsteps that she heard on the staircase behind her.

"I'm sorry Madame. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's alright Henriette. I guess I'm just a little on edge," she laughed nervously.

"If you don't require anything else, Madame, I'll be retiring for the night."

"No, that's fine," Christine answered, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. "Oh, and Henriette," she called down the hallway.

"Yes, Madame?"

"I've asked you a thousand times- call me Christine."

"As you wish…Christine," she relied, smiling shyly.

Christine would never be completely accustomed to the life of an aristocrat. The servants were always complaining that Christine wouldn't let them do their job; she insisted on doing everything for herself. Raoul had tried to convince her once that she needn't worry about doing her own chores anymore, but Christine wouldn't hear of it. He gave up immediately, knowing that he could never deny his wife anything.

Christine walked out the front door and began along her familiar path. She often walked by herself to be alone with her thoughts and clear her head. She had willingly given up her career at the Opera Populaire after she married Raoul. Even though he supported her, Christine knew it would break his heart for her to go back to the place where he had suffered so much for her. The pain of the memories would be almost too much for him. But Christine still sang; she could never give that up. She would sing whenever she and Raoul had dinner guests or to put their son to bed. Sometimes late at night, Raoul would ask her to sing the songs they had sung as children.

For the second time that night, Erik wandered into Christine's mind. She couldn't understand why, even now, she was helpless against him. His voice still echoed in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to block it out. Christine felt the hot tears form in her eyes. The memory of the last time she had seen him was forever burned into her mind. Her Angel of Music, dejectedly accepting a life of loneliness, a life without love. Deep down inside, though she would never admit it even to herself, Christine sometimes wondered if she had made the right decision. She loved Raoul with all her soul; there was no doubt of it. And she was truly happy in her life with him. But there were nights when she lay awake in bed, and pangs of guilt would take hold of her heart. Did she really deserve to be so happy when she had destroyed Erik's soul? She felt selfish for turning her back on him after all he had done for her. But it was he who had let her go; sent her away with Raoul. She would always be grateful to him for giving her a chance at life in the brilliant light of day.

Christine had been so lost in thought that she didn't hear the footsteps that approached behind her. A hand grabbed her shoulder and turned her around roughly. Standing before her was a young man who couldn't have been more than 17 years old. He wore shabby clothes that hung loosely off his body, obviously not made for him.

"Good evening Mademoiselle," he grinned, revealing yellow, rotted teeth. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing out all alone?"

"I…I'm not alone. My husband is on his way right now. We're just going out for a walk," Christine replied, trying to conceal her fear.

"Oh really? Well perhaps I could accompany you until he arrives."

"That's very kind, but I'm quite alright. Thank you anyways," Christine said hastily as she began to walk away.

"Then I'll just be taking any valuables you have and be on my way."

Christine started to run, but the thief was much too quick. He easily caught up with her, putting a knife to her throat. "Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be."

Christine knew that no amount of money was worth her life. She handed over all the francs she had with her.

"The jewelry too. Quickly!" he yelled, looking around nervously.

Christine reached behind her neck and unclasped her necklace. He took it from her hand forcefully.

"And the ring."

Christine looked down at her hand. She couldn't give him that! The engagement ring Raoul had given her was a large pink diamond with two smaller square-cut diamonds on either side. But more importantly than what it was worth, it was a symbol of the love and commitment that she and Raoul shared. It meant the world to her.

"Please, monsieur. Not this. It's my engagement ring. I…I can't bear to part with it," Christine pleaded.

"I don't have time for this! Give it to me!" he yelled, rushing forward.

He grabbed Christine from behind, grasping at the ring on her hand. Christine struggled violently, kicking and screaming. When the man took hold of her wrist, Christine bent her head down and bit his hand as hard as she could. He immediately let go, bringing his sore hand to his mouth. Christine tried to run away, but he caught hold of her dress. Christine fell to the ground and hit her head on the hard cobbled road. In the distance she heard yelling as the world faded to black.


	2. Madame Who?

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed! I like to hear from everyone, including EC shippers, so keep it coming!

Amanda- It's pretty much a book/movie combo (I have never seen the stage show). You can imagine the characters any way you like, but when I'm writing I picture them as they are in the movie (mostly because Patrick Wilson and Gerry Butler are really hot!) But anyways, that's enough from me…

Christine woke up, blinking against the rain that had begun to fall. Three men stood over her, talking amongst themselves.

"What are we gonna do? We can't just leave her here!"

"What can we do? We don't even know who she is."

Christine moaned and moved a hand to the back of her head. She gasped at the blood that slipped through her fingers and mingled with the rain in her palm.

"She's waking up!" one of them said, leaning down and taking hold of her shoulders.

"Don't mover her you idiot! She looks hurt. Mademoiselle, do you know where you live? Perhaps we can find someone to take care of you."

"What a silly question! Of course I know where I live. I live at…at…" Christine willed her tongue to speak the words, but it was useless. Her breathing began to quicken as panic took hold of her. Christine searched her memory, only to find any attempt to grasp some moment of the past futile.

"It's alright mademoiselle. Calm down," one of them said reassuringly.

"No it's not alright! You don't understand. I…I can't even remember my own name!"

One of the men reached a hand down to Christine's wounded head. She jumped back as though he had burned her. Christine's eyes darted back and forth, scanning the faces of the men who stood over her. How could she be sure that she could trust them? What if they were the ones who had done this to her? Christine slowly lifted herself to her feet, not daring to take her eyes off of her supposed rescuers.

"I'm fine. Thank you for all your help," she said with a false calm as she turned to walk away. When one of them reached out to try and stop her, Christine pushed his arm away and ran as fast as she could.

"Come back! We're not gonna hurt you!" he called after her.

"Oh forget it. She's probably just some crazy homeless woman. I don't know why we even stopped…"

Christine had no idea where she was going, but somehow her feet seemed to. They carried her through the streets of Paris, her footsteps the only sound that resounded in the silence of the night. Christine finally collapsed, out of breath, on a set of hard stone steps. She closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to fall.

What was she going to do now? How was she ever going to get home? Did she even have a home to return to? Millions of questions flooded Christine's mind all at once. But she couldn't stay out all night in the rain, pondering the sorry state of her life. She drew in a deep breath and looked up to see where she had landed. Before her stood an immense building adorned with stone carvings. All around her were posters advertising some sort of show. An opera? Christine stood, leaning on one of the large columns for support. She walked up the steps and through the large wooden doors of the Opera Populaire. She moved silently through the wide corridors, afraid of being discovered and thrown out into the street once again. When she heard voices ahead of her, Christine threw herself into the shadows, pressing her back against the wall.

"Oh Roslin, that's simply horrid!" giggled one of the girls.

"It's true Odette," the other replied, dropping her voice to a frightening whisper. "He is so hideously ugly that not even his own mother could bear to look at him. They say he stalks the catacombs of the Opera house. He does nothing day and night but compose his music and pine for his lost love," she said, exaggeratedly throwing her hand to heart. "That is, except when he emerges to…STRANGLE THE CHORUS GIRLS!"

The two girls collapsed in a fit of laughter.

"That's not funny," Christine heard a voice speak seriously.

"Oh Meg! Relax. It's just a story."

"It's cruel," the new voice said quietly.

"She's so strange. She acts like he's a real person or something," the first girl whispered.

"We better get going. We don't want her telling her mommy on us."

Christine waited until the echo of their voices was gone. She came out of her hiding place with a puzzled look on her face. Something about that story felt familiar. Perhaps spending some time here would bring something back to the blank slate her mind had become. Christine set off to explore the building, determined to find a warm place to rest her exhausted body. She turned down another corridor and noticed a beam of light peeking out of the room at the end. She walked towards it in a hypnotized trance. Before she knew what she was doing, Christine had opened the door and gone inside. The room was lit by several candles, making it very inviting. Christine pulled back her hair to lean down and smell the flowers that filled the room. She ran her hands over the soft cloth-covered couch. The walls were covered with the most beautiful paintings she had ever seen. Well, she had to assume that they were as she couldn't actually remember seeing any other paintings.

But what captivated Christine's attention was the large gold-framed mirror that stood in front of her. Something stirred deep down in her soul. She had been here before. This was something important. Christine approached the mirror tentatively. She placed a shaking hand against it and brought her face close to the reflection. Her breathing produced small clouds of fog on the glass. Christine felt like she was looking for something beyond the mirror, but how could that be? Christine stood there for a few moments waiting for something to happen. What was she thinking? There was nothing behind the mirror; it was impossible. Christine chided herself for being so childish. She turned to leave, but stopped when she heard something behind her. When she turned back around, she was face to face with a man in a white mask. He stood there staring into her eyes, like he could see down into her soul. In her head, Christine knew that she should be surprised, frightened even. But something about this mysterious man comforted her and calmed her fears.

He looked at her with mingled sadness and confusion, "Christine…is it really you?" All the time he had spent alone since she left must have damaged his mind. He had given her the life she had wanted with her precious fiancé. Why would she return here?

Christine's face brightened. "You know who I am?" she asked excitedly, taking Erik's hands in hers.

"You don't remember who you are?"

"Well…no."

So that was it. She hadn't returned to him, she was lost in the vast emptiness of her own mind. Erik looked down at her smooth hands in his. How he had longed for their touch. But it was never to be. She would return to her Vicomte and they would live out their fairy tale lives. Unless… perhaps fate was giving him another chance. He had atoned for his sins when he let Christine go, but here she was in front of him again. Maybe there were no coincidences; she was destined to return to him. Now it was as if there was no past, only a future. He could create a new past for her; a past that would lead her to a happy ending with him.

Erik removed his hands from Christine's and lovingly stroked her face. "I've been so concerned about you, my dear."

"You…you have?"

"Of course! When you did not return earlier this evening, I was sick with worry!"

"What do you mean?"

"Mon amour, you are my wife," he said placing her hand on his heart. "Don't you recognize me? I am your husband, Erik."

Christine felt a flicker of recognition in her mind. "Erik…yes. I know that name means something."

Erik gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry my love. In time, I will help you remember everything. All that matters right now is that you have returned to me."

Erik took hold of her hand and led her towards the mirror.

"What are we doing?"

"Why, we are going home, my dear!"

"Home?" she asked nervously.

"To our beautiful home on the lake. It sits deep below the stage of the Opera house. There is nothing to fear, my love. You're safe now."

Christine began to follow him into the mirror, when she suddenly became very light-headed. She fell into Erik's arms and was once again plunged into darkness. Erik looked at the beautiful form that rested in his arms. His eyes scanned her smooth, white skin; her face, her shoulders, her hands…her hands. They still held an indication of her former life. The large sparkling ring that rested on her finger glared at him, reminding Erik that she was not truly his. But that would change in time. He gently lay her down on the sofa. Erik pulled, but the ring wouldn't slide off easily. It held fast to its position, mocking him. Erik twisted and pulled it until it was finally free. He removed the slender gold chain from around his neck. He rolled the simple gold band it held in his fingers, remembering when he had first given it to her. She thought she had lost it, but Erik was there to find it. She had been so careless with the ring, and his heart, when she was in the presence of her lover. Erik shook his head, throwing the bad memory from his mind. There was no past anymore, he reminded himself. He gently slid the ring onto her slender finger. While she rested, he would begin writing the story of their life. It would be his first work of art that would not be a tragedy.

Erik was shaken from his thoughts when he heard the voices of the managers approaching. Perhaps he should start asking for his salary again. After all, a husband has to be able to support his wife. Erik scooped Christine up into his arms and carried her towards the mirror. He looked back into the dressing room to the direction of the voices. Yes, it was time for the Phantom of the Opera to reveal himself once again.


	3. Not Again

Andre sat in his office, dismally adding up the money that the Opera Populaire had earned the previous night. Since the loss of Mademoiselle Daae, or Madame de Chagny as it were, their profits had been steadily decreasing. On top of losing their biggest star, they had lost all of the mystery and intrigue that surrounded her; Andre wouldn't deny that the stories had helped boost their ticket sales. Now they were barely keeping their heads above water. Perhaps it would have been better for them if they had stayed in the junk, er, scrap metal business. He lifted his head when he heard thunderous knocking on his door. Without a word his partner Firmin burst inside, frantically waving an envelope and sputtering out incoherent sentences.

"Firmin! Get a hold of yourself," Andre yelled, shaking him violently.

"Alright…alright!" he screamed, straightening his jacket. "I don't believe it. I simply don't believe it," he said quietly, pacing the room.

"What happened?"

"I found this in my office today," Firmin answered, dropping the envelope on Andre's desk before dropping himself into a chair. He closed his eyes tightly and rubbed the bridge of his nose while Andre tentatively pulled the letter from the envelope. His eyes widened when they fell upon a familiar seal.

" 'My dear Firmin, while I doubt that you will be anything other than distressed to hear from me again, my letter is of the utmost importance. I can only imagine your surprise at finding my letter in your office, so I will be as brief as possible. Due to recent events, I shall once again be requiring my monthly salary. Please leave 20,000 francs in box five on the first day of every month. And for the sake of all involved, please do not attempt any foolish tricks. As always, your obedient servant, O.G.' Dear God…" Andre trailed off.

"I know, it's a disaster. We haven't the money to pay him every month," Firmin said in a whiny tone.

"No, Firmin. Don't you see? We can use this to our advantage! If…_somehow_…the papers were to get a hold of this letter, think of all the interest it would stir up. Things would be almost like they were before. People would line up in the hopes catching a glimpse of the famous Phantom of the Opera!" Andre said in an excited whisper.

"Do you really think we should chance it?" Firmin asked, looking suspiciously around the room.

"What other choice do we have? A few more months and like this and we'll lose everything. We'll be out on the street," Andre answered desperately. He let out a deep sigh before collapsing in the chair beside Firmin. For a moment the two men sat in silence, contemplating the opportunity that lay before them.

Finally, Firmin stood up with a determined resolve, "You know something Andre? You're right. This may be just the thing to breathe some new life into this old place. What have we got to lose?"

Andre stood and extended his hand. With a firm hand shake, the partners began their new advertising ploy.

Deep beneath there feet, a different sort of plan was unfolding.

A/N: Short chapter, I know. It's just to tide you over until I get around to the really good stuff. Just so you didn't think that I forgot! I haven't had as much time to work on it as I would like, but I have one month of classes left and that's it!


	4. Deja Vu All Over Again

A/N: Thanks to everybody for being so patient with me! Most of my time has been consumed with homework and studying, and any free time left over…well I was too tired to feel like writing. So anyways, here's the next chapter!

Raoul slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the sunlight pouring in through the window. It was still very early; all was silent in the house. He stood slowly, careful not to wake the sleeping child he held in his arms. He gently laid his son down in the bassinet, running his hand over the fluffy blonde hair before turning towards the door. With a few steps Raoul had crossed the hallway and opened the large oak doors that led into the bedroom he shared with Christine, only to find it completely empty. His eyes scanned the room, falling upon the bed that was impeccably made and the nightdress laid out a chair, and it appeared as though Christine hadn't been there for hours. With a slight frown he shut the door behind him and set off to find his wife.

He wandered through each of the rooms in the expansive estate, his pace quickening as worry began to set in. Finally he went to the servants' quarters and woke their maid, Henriette.

"Henriette, have you seen Christine? I can't seem to find her anywhere."

"Why, no monsieur. I haven't seen her since last night when she left for her evening walk," she replied.

Raoul ran a hand through his hair and let out a deep sigh. He tried to dismiss his fears, telling himself that he was acting irrationally. Since they had fled the Opera Populaire they had nothing to fear. But worry was tugging at Raoul's heart; deep down he knew that something was wrong. Raoul decided that he needed to go speak with the police immediately. But first he needed someone to care for Christophe while he was away; Christine had insisted that she could care for her son and she didn't require a nurse to help her. Once again he turned his attention to the puzzled maid standing before him.

"Henriette, do you have any experience with children?"

"Don't worry monsieur. Christophe will be perfectly cared for," she answered with a reassuring smile.

Raoul gave her a grateful nod as he turned on his heel and ran towards the stables. He was breathing hard when he approached the young boy who worked there. His mother was their cook, and had complained that she was constantly tripping over him in the kitchen. She asked Raoul if there were anything that could occupy the boy's time. After a moment's thought he suggested that the boy could work in the stables; nothing difficult, just feeding and grooming.

"Going out for your morning ride, monsieur?" he asked as Raoul drew near.

"I'm afraid I'm leaving on important business, Emile," Raoul responded. "I'm leaving you in charge while I'm gone," he added.

"You can count on me monsieur," Emile said, raising his pudgy hand in a salute.

Raoul gave a slight chuckle before mounting his horse and riding off. Shortly he was riding into the city, his shoes and the bottoms of his pants covered in mud. He leapt down from his horse and secured it in front of the police station. He walked through the doors and approached the desk at the front of the building.

"I need to speak with Inspector Reinard, si vous plait."

"Monsieur de Chagny!" he heard a voice call from across the room. Raoul offered his hand out to the man who was approaching him. "To what do I owe this great honor?"

"I wish I could be here on happier terms Marcel, but I'm afraid I'm in quite a panic," Raoul confessed, taking a seat beside the inspector's desk. "No one has seen my wife since last night and all evidence suggests that she didn't return home," he said, his eyes downcast.

"You think someone has harmed her?"

"I…I don't know. But it isn't like her to stay out all night. In fact, since she gave birth she has spent practically every moment in the house with our son."

"Mon dieu, a baby? Oh, I feel so old. Congratulations, Raoul!" Reinard responded.

"Thank you, Marcel. But at the moment I am very concerned for my wife."

"Of course, forgive me. So, do you have reason to suspect that someone would want to harm your wife?" Reinard asked, taking out a sheet of paper and a pen.

Raoul's mind immediately returned to a house on a lake, a room of mirrors, a scorpion and a grasshopper. He looked down and replied quietly, "No. No one would ever hurt her."

"Well…is there any indication that something has happened to her? A witness, something?"

Raoul hesitated. "No. But I know that there is something wrong. She would not just leave us. She loves our son more than anything in the world. There is only one reason that she wouldn't return home and that is if something or someone was preventing her from doing so," Raoul's voice was growing increasingly strong. "Now isn't there anything you can do?"

Reinard leaned in and placed a hand on Raoul's shoulder, "You know that I want to help. You were the finest sailor I ever had the pleasure to call a friend. But without any evidence, my hands are tied."

"Is there someone else I could speak to, the captain perhaps?" Raoul asked desperately.

"I'm afraid not. Unfortunately the…de Chagny name doesn't carry as much weight as it once did."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Raoul asked indignantly.

"Oh for God's sake, Raoul! Surely you have heard what people have been saying? You and your family haven't been accepted in polite society since your wedding. You must know. Why else would you have become such a recluse? And just look at yourself!" he added, motioning to Raoul's dirty and disheveled clothes.

"I see," Raoul said in an angry growl as he stood to leave.

"Please don't be angry with me. I want to help you, I do. But as long as you wear that ring…"

Raoul looked down at his hand. He hadn't realized until then how much he had been shaking. He pulled his hand into a fist, wrapping the other hand around it. "Then I will simply have to find my wife without you. It's not as though I haven't done it before," Raoul regretted that statement the moment it left his mouth. He had grown wiser since his days at the Opera Populaire and now understood the foolishness of his actions during those times. He no longer wished to play the triumphant hero at the risk of his wife's safety. If something had indeed happened to Christine, Raoul would need as much help as possible to bring her back.


	5. New Deep

Erik deftly stepped from his boat onto the shore, Christine still lying limp in his arms. He couldn't help but smile at the familiarity of the situation. It was the first time he had smiled since he had released Christine with her fiancée that night. Erik gently laid Christine down in the bed before beginning the challenging task of preparing the house for her. It had to appear as though it were the home of a happily married couple. Besides that, there was still the daunting task of creating an entire life for her. Erik only wished that Christine would remain asleep until all was ready for her. Although he worked diligently to put everything in order, he frequently caught himself simply staring at Christine. The soft curves of her skin drew him in, hypnotized him. As he watched her sleep, Erik felt the shattered pieces of his heart slowly coming back together.

After a few hurried hours, Erik heard Christine stirring from her sleep. He rushed to her side and sat down beside the bed. He wanted to be the first thing she saw when she awoke to her new life. He gently took her hand in his as her eyes fluttered open.

"Erik?" she said with a puzzled look.

"Yes my dear, I'm here," he answered, tentatively reaching out a hand to brush the hair from her face. Her skin felt so warm against his.

"Where…where are we?"

"Do you not recognize your home? I had hoped that being here would inspire some memory. Would you like to take a look around?" he spoke to her like she was a lost child.

Christine slowly lifted herself from the bed, never attempting to remove her hand from Erik's. She let him lead her through their home, showing her the place where they dine, where he composed his songs for her, where she sat and read. For a moment, she felt dizzy, as though she were going to faint again. Erik saw her wavering and quickly moved to steady her.

"Are you alright my love?" he asked, his face revealing his concern.

Christine gave him a weak smile. "I'm fine. It's just that, well, you leading me through this place…it feels familiar."

"I am pleased to hear it. But perhaps you have been on your feet enough for tonight. You have certainly endured enough stress. Come, you must go back to bed."

Erik helped her into the bed and pulled the sheets up to her shoulders. He was suddenly struck with a thought- where was he going to sleep? He hadn't really considered this. Surely as Christine's husband, he had every right to sleep beside her. But at the same time, he didn't feel entitled to place his corpse beside this angel. Erik turned to leave the room when he felt a hand take hold of his wrist. He looked down and saw a pained look on Christine's face.

"Erik, please tell me something about myself, anything. Not knowing about my life…it's devastating," she said, her eyes pleading.

Erik smile as he once again sat down beside her. "Well, what would you like to hear?"

"It doesn't matter. Just start from the beginning," she answered as she lay back and relaxed her body.

"Very well. Your father was an amazing musician and storyteller. And he loved you more than anything…" he began. Erik told her everything he knew of her life, keeping it as close to reality as possible. This way, should she remember something, it would fit comfortably within the framework of the life Erik wove. There was, however, one rather large detail that Erik had taken liberty with. The Vicomte had his place in the story, but he would simply have to wait.

Christine was enthralled by the sound of Erik's voice. It filled her soul and warmed her heart against the cold. Every minute detail of her life took on a new importance when Erik spoke of it.

"From the very first moment that I heard you sing, I knew that you had a gift. I could not allow it to go to waste, despite the ignorance of the fools who run this theater. So I became your teacher. Your teacher, and yet, so much more…" Erik's voice broke with emotion and he hung his head.

Christine raised a hand to his cheek and turned his face towards her. "It's lovely. Please, continue."

"I don't know that I should. For you see, there was a shadow that eclipsed our happiness, a dark force that tried to overpower us."

Erik saw the worried look on Christine's face, "Yes, that is enough."

"No!" Christine called out desperately. "Please, Erik. I have a right to know."

"As you wish," he continued. "There was no way that we could have been prepared. Monsieurs Andre and Firmin announced the new patron of the Opera Populaire- Le Vicomte de Chagny. He was present the night you made your stunning debut, and from that moment forward you became his obsession. You tried to avert his advances, but he was relentless in his pursuit. Night after night he would approach your dressing room with gifts of flowers and jewelry, professing his unending love for you. Finally, one night you confessed that he could never have your heart, because it belonged to another." Erik took Christine's hand in his and looked her earnestly in the eyes, "He went mad with jealousy. He vowed to kill the other man who held your affections…"

"Oh Erik!" Christine interjected, terror in her wide eyes.

"Does the story frighten you my dear?"

"No, don't stop," she replied with a strong voice.

"He grabbed hold of your arms and demanded that you tell him where he could find this other man. When you refused, he turned his rage upon you. He said that he would be the only man to ever possess you. When I entered the room he was…forcing you down upon the floor. He had ripped your dress open. I took a vase off the vanity and broke it over his head. Then I brought you down here to my home, where we have lived as husband and wife ever since."

"And what of the Vicomte?" Christine asked angrily.

"I believe he is married to another woman now, though I doubt she is very happy."

"How could she be, married to a man like that?" Christine wiped the tears from her eyes.

"He is none of our concern anymore. I would never let him anywhere near you again," Erik said, gently stroking Christine's hand. "Are you satisfied now, my love?"

"I shall be content for tonight. I only wish I could remember more of what you said. I suppose it will return to me in time?"

"Perhaps," he answered. "Now you must rest."

"Thank you Erik," Christine whispered before allowing her eyes to close in sleep.


	6. Unbearable Loss

The cry of a baby pierced the silence of the De Chagny household. Noiselessly Raoul dragged his weary body from his bed and lifted his son out of the bassinet. After Raoul returned from Paris earlier that afternoon, he had insisted upon having Christophe always near him. Raoul carried his infant son back to the bed, allowing Christophe's head to lie on his chest while he gently rubbed his back. As the crying began to cease and stillness once again overtook the room, the emotions that Raoul had suppressed that day finally rose to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him like a tidal wave. He remembered that, as a child, he had thought his father the bravest man in the world; that any man with a family knew no fear. He now understood how terribly wrong he had been. The fear he felt now, for his wife and his son, was deep and endless. Raoul wrapped his arms protectively around Christophe's tiny form.

"She will be with us again soon. Your mother would move heaven and earth to be with you," he whispered gently. Raoul sat that way with his son until morning, when Henriette knocked on the door.

"Yes?" Raoul called.

Henriette opened the door and entered timidly, "I'm sorry to disturb you, Monsieur, but there is a man waiting to speak with you in the foyer. He says that his name is Inspector Reinard."

Raoul's face brightened slightly at the announcement. He stood carefully and strode across the room to the door.

"Would you like me to take Christophe while you speak with your guest, Monsieur?" she asked, offering out her arms for the child.

"No thank you, Henriette," Raoul replied as he placed a hand to the back of his son's head.

In a moment Raoul was in the foyer, greeting Reinard. "What business brings you here?" he asked curtly.

Reinard ignored the question, turning his attention to the baby Raoul held in his arms, "What an adorable little boy. May I hold him?"

Raoul looked down pensively at Christophe, hesitating for a moment before handing him over to Reinard.

"I'm afraid that there is something serious that I need to tell you. Please have a seat."

"I prefer to stand," Raoul said defiantly, his arms crossed over chest.

Reinard spoke in a soft tone, "I really believe that you should sit down."

"Very well," Raoul replied, sitting down in a large armchair.

"Despite the fact that I was risking my reputation, I decided to investigate your claim. I discovered that there was report of a disturbance two nights ago. An old man living near the outskirts of the city, not very far from your estate, claimed that he had witnessed a crime. He gave a description of the victim, a description which matches your wife. She was pushed to the ground. Apparently she hit her head very hard…" Reinard's voice trailed off. "Raoul I'm sorry. We believe she was killed."

Raoul looked at him in disbelief, "You can't say for certain that it was Christine, though."

"You said that the last time you wife was seen, she was leaving for a late-night walk. Does this walk take her towards the city?"

Raoul looked down at the floor.

"Raoul, when I read his description of the victim, I would have bet my life that he had seen Christine. Based on the clothes that the woman was wearing, it was obvious that she came from a family of some wealth. Surely someone would have missed her, and you are the only one to come in and report a missing person."

"But…but you didn't say that you found her…" Raoul was unable to say "body"; the word was too cold and distant to describe his wife. "You didn't find her. How can you say she is dead?"

"I know it's difficult to accept. The responding officer said that there was so much blood at the scene…should she have survived the blow, she would have needed medical attention almost immediately. If she had tried to return home in her condition, any number of things could have happened to her. We have little hope that she is still alive," Reinard said softly.

For a moment Raoul sat in shock, absorbing the words that echoed in his head. "_We believe that she was killed." She's dead. Your wife is dead. You promised to protect her. That was your duty. She depended on you, and you let her down. And now you'll never be able to tell her you are sorry. You'll never be able to tell her that you love her. You'll never watch her brush her hair in the morning or feel her breath on your neck while she sleeps. She'll never hold her son again. She won't be there to see him take his first steps, go off to school, get married. Your son will grow up never knowing his mother. And you're responsible for it all._

Raoul wrapped his hands around his head and began to sob.

"Raoul…" Reinard began, but before he could speak another word, Raoul was on his feet. He violently threw over the chair that he had been sitting in. He pulled paintings down off the walls and threw anything he could pick up before collapsing into a corner. Reinard had turned his back to shield Christophe from his father's outburst. When he turned around once more, Raoul's head was in his hands and he was crying uncontrollably.

Raoul tried uselessly to wipe the tears from his eyes as he stood and approached Reinard. He held out his arms and Reinard handed him his son. Raoul placed a light kiss on his son's temple. He remembered how he had kissed Christine that way, trying to calm the fears he believed she had imagined. The thought of Christine brought pain like the stabbing of a knife in his heart.

Raoul closed his eyes tightly and said in a trembling voice, "Thank you for everything, Reinard."

"I only wish I could have brought you better news," Reinard replied, putting on his hat and coat. "I can see myself out."

"Henriette," Raoul called out.

"Oui Monsieur?" she asked as she entered the room. Her knees went weak when she noticed the chaos of the room and Raoul's tear-stained eyes.

"I need you to gather all the servants together. There is something that I need to tell you all," he said in a pained voice.

"Please, Monsieur. I can tell them," she said quietly.

"Thank you, Henriette. After you have told them, would you please have Christophe's and my things prepared for an extended trip?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"May I ask why, Monsieur?"

"I wish to take my son to Perros," he answered softly.


	7. Taking Control

"Christine, please join me by the table. I would like to examine your wound once more," Erik called to her from the dining room.

Christine placed a ribbon in a page of _Les Trois Mousquetaires_ to mark her place and sat in a chair that Erik pulled out for her. She winced as he removed the bandages that wrapped around her head. She reached back a hand and felt the dried blood that had clumped in her curly brown hair.

"It seems to be healing nicely. How do you feel?" Erik asked as his hands fell from her head onto her shoulders.

"Much better, thank you," she replied, turning her head to look at him. Erik looked back at her with an excited yet nervous look.

"Erik, what is it?" Christine giggled.

"Christine, come with me. I wish for you to hear something," Erik said, moving in front of her and extending his hand.

Christine stood and placed her hand in his. She followed him to his organ where she lit several candles, as he sat and prepared to play. For a moment Erik's fingers hovered above the keys. They seemed to hesitate, unsure of themselves, unwilling to connect with the ivory that lay before them. When they finally met, their union produce the most beautiful melody that Christine had ever heard. It wrapped itself around her and made time stand still. It spoke to her soul in a way more meaningful than words. The music seemed to last forever, but for Christine it was over much too soon. More than anything she wanted the music to continue.

"Did you enjoy it my dear?" Erik asked apprehensively, looking down at the keys. "I wrote it for you. I wished to express the way I feel every time you look at me, and words simply weren't enough."

When Erik looked up at Christine, she had tears in her eyes. "Erik, I…it moved me so deeply. I don't know how to describe it..."

Christine took a deep breath as she leaned down, placed her hands on Erik's face, and kissed him. She pulled back, puzzled, when she felt his lips go stiff against hers. His whole body seemed tense. His eyes searched her face. _She kissed you. There was no coercion, no life held in the balance, no pity. There was nothing but the kiss. Of her own will, she put her lips to yours._

Christine stared at Erik as he stood and approached her. His eyes fell upon her mouth. He wanted to feel her soft lips against his once more. Tentatively he raised a hand to her cheek and pulled her in for a kiss. It was soft at first, but as Erik felt Christine respond to his touch, it became deeper. Erik was surprised when he felt Christine pull back once more. Their eyes remained locked together as she took hold of his hand and led him from the room. At first he was unsure of what she was doing. But his breath came at a quicker pace as he realized she was taking him towards the bedroom. He stood in awe as she timidly removed her dress, standing before him in only her slip and corset. He kissed her passionately as he lowered her onto the bed. As his hands began to explore her body, he felt her hands fall upon her chest. Suddenly Erik felt Christine push him away. She sat up quickly, her eyes red with tears.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I can't. I just…I can't," she said through her sobs.

"There is nothing to apologize for my love," he said soothingly as he wiped the tears from her eyes.

Christine stood and hurriedly put on her dress. "What a silly woman you must think me," Christine laughed quietly through her tears, trying to regain her composure.

"Not at all my love. As I have said, you have been through a severe trauma. I'm sure you will require some time to become adjusted to our life once more," Erik said reassuringly, trying to mask his disappointment. _She kissed you, but she couldn't bring herself show you the love a wife has for her husband. It's still there,_ Erik realized with horror. _Somewhere deep inside, the Vicomte still has a hold of her. No matter. She was yours before he came, she shall be yours once more._

Christine sat on the bed and took of both of Erik's hands. "I should like to venture from our home for a bit. Perhaps we could take a ride through the city?" Christine asked, her voice once again steady.

Erik could not risk being seen, let alone with the missing wife of the Vicomte de Chagny. He was sure by now that the insolent boy had realized Christine's absence and had gone to the police. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible my love. You are not well enough yet."

"Oh, Erik. You do worry about me too much. I'm really feeling much better."

"I said no," Erik replied in a commanding tone.

"Erik I really think you're being…"

"Do not contradict me, Christine," Erik said as he pulled his hands from hers and stood. "All that I do is for your well-being."

Christine looked down at her hands and spoke softly, "I understand." She stood and picked up her book, carrying it with her to the bedroom and closing the door behind her.

_She will become accustomed to her new life. You must be patient. _

Erik's thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone approaching his home from the Rue-Scribe side. Erik recognized the pointed hat and the form that drew near him. "Why daroga! What a pleasant surprise!"

"I have not come for pleasantries, Erik. I demand to know what it going on," the Persian replied curtly.

"What do you speak of, daroga?"

"Do not feign ignorance with me Erik," he replied threateningly. "I was reading my paper when I came upon these reports." The Persian opened a newspaper that he held under his arm. " 'Return of the Mysterious Opera Ghost. A confidential source has discovered that the Phantom of the Opera, a legendary figure of the Opera Populaire, has begun making demands of its owners, Monsieurs Andre and Firmin.' A copy of the letter you sent is here in print. But more disturbing than that is this- 'Christine, Vicomtessse de Chagny, believed to have been murdered'."

_Fools. So they believe she is dead?_ Erik thought bemusedly.

The Persian continued, "Were these not enough to arouse my suspicion, your appearance surely is. What gives you occasion to be in high spirits? When last I saw you, you were on the point of death from sorrow."

"What do you suspect me of, daroga?" Erik asked, suddenly becoming very serious.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I could never hope to understand you fully, and I don't entirely know what you are capable of," the Persian answered, looking Erik directly in the eyes.

Erik hesitated for a moment, glancing behind him at the closed doors of his bedroom. He began in a low voice, "You must understand daroga, that none of this came about by my planning. I was taken completely by surprise; something that doesn't happen often in my theater. One night as I wandered the hidden passages, wallowing in my suffering for the only love I had ever known, I came upon a curious sight. Before me, in the dressing room where I once gave her lessons, stood Christine. Imagine my surprise to find her, when I believed that I should never see her again. Against my will, her name escaped my lips. But she did not even recognize her own name. She has no memory of anything, daroga. Now, don't you see? How can I send her away once again, when we have the chance for a future together?"

"You cannot play with her life this way, Erik. She is not yours. She never was."

"Mademoiselle Daae and I are perfectly happy here."

"She is not Mademoiselle Daae any longer. She is Madame de Chagny. She has a son, Erik."

"A son?" Erik said to himself, looking down at the floor. Christine, his angel, was a mother?

"Look at me, Erik," the Persian said forcefully, placing his hands on Erik's shoulders. "She is a wife and mother; her family grieves for her. If you truly love her, you will tell her the truth. How can you subject her son to a life without his mother?"

"I wish the child no harm, but you cannot expect me to send her away again. She has returned to me for a reason, surely you must see that."

"Erik please…"

"I fear what should happen to the Vicomte, should Christine be taken from me again," Erik interrupted, his menacing eyes boring into the Persian's. "Do what is best for yourself and all others involved, daroga. Return to wherever it is you came from."

The Persian removed his trembling hands from Erik's shoulder and turned towards the lake. He had helped the Vicomte risk both their lives once before, but he wondered if now the cost was too high. He stumbled his way towards the boat, his eyes locked with Erik's which glowed forebodingly in the dark. As he rowed away, the Persian realized that he would never again lay eyes on Erik or his underground home.


	8. Living in the Past

A/N: Sorry that it's been a while since I last updated. My internet hasn't been working so well lately. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!

Raoul was unprepared for the sight that awaited him when he stepped from his carriage. The summer home he so fondly remembered had drastically changed. It had not stood well against the elements; the bricks were crumbling and the roof was in obvious need of repair. Raoul shifted Christophe in his arms and approached a middle-aged man shearing sheep at the back of the house.

"How may I be of service, Monsieur de Chagny?" the man asked as Raoul drew near.

"How did you know who I was?" Raoul questioned with a perplexed look.

"I recognize the crest on your carriage. Comte Phillipe visited us many times while we made arrangements to buy this house," he said, gesturing to the building behind him.

"I see. I was not aware that my brother had sold the house. I'm very sorry to have disturbed you," Raoul said, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

"And who is this?" the man asked, lowering his face to meet Christophe's eyes.

"This is my son, Christophe," Raoul answered, bouncing the child in his arms.

"Is his mother with you?"

"We…recently lost her," Raoul replied, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes.

"I'm very sorry," the man said, lifting his eyes to look at Raoul. "Listen," he began, scratching his beard, "If you don't mind a little noise, you and your son are welcome to stay here."

"I really couldn't impose."

"It's no imposition. My wife and I don't get too many visitors out here, let alone someone as distinguished as yourself."

"I hardly think myself distinguished. But if you really wouldn't mind having us, we won't stay too long," Raoul said, his eyes shining.

"My wife will show you to a room and my son can help bring your things in, Monsieur de Chagny."

"Raoul, please," Raoul said, extending his free hand.

"Olivier," the man replied, firmly shaking Raoul's hand. He led Raoul to the front of the house, where he called for his wife and son. "Amie, Laurent, this is Raoul de Changy and his son Christophe. They will be staying with us for a time. Please help them with their things."

Amie nodded dutifully and led Raoul to the room at the end of the hall, his old room. All of his furnishings were gone now, replaced with a just bed and a simple armoire. The blue paint he had chosen to match the sea was now a dingy green. Despite the changes that the home had undergone, everything still felt the same. Raoul opened the small window and took a deep breath of the salty air. The sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows around the room. Raoul placed Christophe on the wooden floor and sat down in front of him.

As Christophe wrapped his tiny hand around Raoul's finger, Raoul began to speak softly. "Well my love, this is where it all began. This is where I fell in love with your mother for the first time. Even as a child, she had an irresistible charm. I suppose from the very day that I first saw her, she had a power over me. Why else would I be so foolish to run into a raging sea after a scarf?" Raoul chuckled at the memory. "I thought about her constantly from the moment we parted." Raoul drew his son into his arms. "When we met again, we were no longer care-free children, but awkward teenagers. Things were much simpler for us then. If I had known then where life would lead us, I would have taken her in my arms and never let her go," Raoul choked back the sobs that hung in his throat. "The truth is, I don't know what we are going to do. I'm lost without her."

Raoul looked up when he heard a soft knock at the door. "Monsieur de Chagny, would you like some supper?" Amie asked.

"No, thank you. I think we'll just turn in for the night. It's been a long journey."

"I'm sure it has. Goodnight monsieur," she replied as she shut the door behind her.

Raoul lifted Christophe from the floor and laid him down on the bed to change him into his night clothes. Raoul scooped Christophe up into his arms once more and sat down with him on the bed. Raoul gently bounced him until his eyes closed. Raoul rubbed his son's back and felt his heart beat against his chest. He spoke in a sad whisper, "Your mother said something to me once that I shall never forget. It was during our honeymoon in Spain. We were having a picnic on the southern coast and she was leaning her head against me, just the way you are now. She looked up at me, smiling, and placed my hand on her heart. She said, 'Do you feel it?' I wasn't sure what she meant, so she took my hand from her chest and placed it on my own. She brought her face close to mine and said, 'Now do you see? It beats to the same time as mine. It's almost as though we share the very same heart.' Even though it's broken, my heart is still beating; and as long as it does, your mother will be with us." Raoul let out a deep sigh and let sleep claim him.

The next morning Raoul was greeted with a letter. "Where did this come from?" he asked Olivier.

"A servant delivered it before you awoke," he answered, spooning food into his mouth.

Raoul recognized the seal on the back- a monogram "V". Excitedly he took the letter back to his room where Christophe still lay sleeping. He tore it open and read aloud. _My dear boy, I am quite distressed that you did not send me word of your arrival at Perros. I thought we were closer than that. I will not have you staying in that house any longer. You and your son, who I am most excited to meet, will be staying here with me. I will hear no discussion on the matter. _ _I anxiously await your arrival. Sincerely yours, Mama Valerius._ "Well Christophe," he said, turning to his son's sleeping form, "it would appear that we have no choice but to leave once again."

Raoul crossed the hall back to the kitchen where Olivier and his family were still eating breakfast. Awkwardly he began to speak, "I'm very sorry to leave like this, but an old friend has requested that we stay with her while in Perros, and I'm afraid she is quite adamant."

"We understand completely, Vicomte. I hope your stay was pleasurable," Olivier said, standing to bid Raoul farewell.

"Very much so. It brought back many fond memories," Raoul replied.

"I'll help you with your things."

When the last of their possessions were packed and loaded in the carriage, Raoul returned one final time to his old room. He stood in the center of the room with his son, listening to the echoes of his childhood. He yearned to return to those days, when Christine was still with him and they lived the careless lives of children. With a sad sigh he turned to leave, but not before leaving some money of the bed for his gracious hosts.

The ride to Mama Valerius's home took Raoul past the cemetery. He didn't notice how his body trembled as he gazed upon the spot where he had first seen the ghost who haunted his sleep. Despite all the promises he had made to Christine, telling her she was safe, that she had nothing to fear from the Phantom, he could never convince himself. Even during his most peaceful and happy moments, his mind was never completely at ease.

When the carriage stopped, Raoul wrapped Christophe tightly with his blanket and stepped to the ground. He gave a soft knock at the door and was greeted by Mama Valerius's servant girl.

"Monsieur de Chagny, Madame Valerius has been expecting you," she said, stepping to the side to allow Raoul to enter.

Raoul gave her a polite nod as he passed her and strode down the hall to the old woman's room. She was in poor health, but it was masked by her strong, determined spirit. When he entered, she sat up in her bed and her wide smile caused the dimples in her chubby cheeks to appear. Raoul approached her bedside and placed a kiss on her hand.

"Oh come now, no need to be so proper. Give your old Mama a real kiss," she said, tapping her cheek with her finger.

Raoul chuckled and leaned down, his lips meeting the apple of her cheek. He pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down.

"May I?" Mama asked, reaching out for Chrisophe.

"Of course," he answered, passing the bundled child into her arms.

"He's beautiful. Oh my dear boy," she said with a sad sigh, "I was so distraught when I received the news about Christine."

Raoul dropped his head and Mama grasped his hand tightly. "I meant to send condolences, but I was told that you had already left for Perros. I know how much you must miss her."

"They say that it will be easier with time, but I don't see how that should ever be possible."

"I understand how you feel. I thought of Christine as my own daughter. My heart shattered when I received news of her death."

"I was hoping to have a service for her here. Nothing large, just those who were closest to her."

"That sounds lovely," she replied as she released his hand. A soft cry came from within the blanket, and grew louder.

"Shhhhh. Everything's alright dear," Mama cooed, trying to comfort the baby. "What did you name him?"

"Christine chose the name Christophe," Raoul answered, stroking the baby's cheek with his finger.

"And how old is he?"

"He will be eight months old next week."

"Well, he's simply precious. But I must ask why you would bring him with you. One would think that you would like some time alone to grieve. Surely there was someone who could provide him with adequate care."

"I could never leave him. He is all I have left of Christine, and I am all he has left of a family."


	9. Deceptions

It had been two weeks since Christine had suddenly backed away from Erik's touch, and she hadn't been able to bring herself close to him since. He in turn had become distant and reserved towards her. Christine wondered where the gulf that separated them had come from. Had their whole marriage been this way? Then there were the betrayals. Erik had forbid her to leave their home, but Christine yearned for something beyond the eternal night that they lived in. Against his wishes, she ventured to the world above them. She had made arrangements with a carriage driver to take a ride through the city once every week. For the small amount of money that she had taken from Erik, the driver had agreed to provide her with a few hours of fresh air and freedom. She would wait until Erik fell asleep before carefully taking the boat across the lake and sneaking through the Opera house. She had been unsteady at first, but she soon was able to skillfully guide the boat across the murky water. She felt guilty for deceiving Erik, but he had left her no other alternative. When he had forbid her from leaving, there was something in his voice that had made her shiver.

Christine tightened her cloak around her shoulders. It was a chilly night, but the sky was clear. Christine could see practically every star in the heavens. She stood in front of the Opera Populaire and waited for her carriage to arrive. Somewhere down the street a baby was crying, awaking its undoubtedly exhausted parents. Christine couldn't understand why, but something about that cry stirred a sadness in her soul. She suddenly felt very alone and empty. For some inexplicable reason, Christine had the deepest urge to cry. She took a deep breath and turned when she heard the approaching horse.

"Are you alright, Madame? You're very pale," the driver said with concern.

"I'm fine, Armand. Thank you," she replied hurriedly as she climbed into the back.

Christine was distracted from the sights that usually enthralled her by the thoughts that plagued her mind. She simply couldn't shake the emotions that the crying child had forced upon her. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to stop the sound from echoing in her mind. Then something happened. It was so quick that Christine hardly noticed it. An image had flashed in her mind, but what was it? Christine's brow furrowed as she tried to bring it back. A man, in a rocking chair, holding a sleeping child. Christine caught herself smiling, truly smiling, for the first time in weeks. She was surprised that an image that she didn't even understand could warm her so. She was determined to ask Erik about it, but she must be careful in how she approached the subject. She simply couldn't allow him to know that she had left.

When Christine returned home, Erik was still fast asleep in the Louis-Philippe room. He had taken it as his own room, leaving Christine alone in their bedroom. She approached him apprehensively. She placed one, small hand on his shoulder and stirred him from his sleep.

"Erik, I need to speak with you."

"Of course. Shall we sit at the dining table?" he asked as he stood.

Erik sat across from her, noting the concern on her face. "What's wrong Christine?"

"I…well, there is still so much that I still don't understand," she began.

"Please, feel free to ask anything."

"You and I, were we, I mean, was it always like this?" she asked, looking down at her hands.

Erik let out a deep sigh. "We've never had what many consider to be a normal relationship. We're both very…unconventional people. But no, it wasn't always like this. There was a time when we were very close. To be honest, I'd never loved anyone or been loved before you entered my life."

Christine reached across the table and took Erik's two hands in her own. "Tell me about your life, Erik."

"I really don't think…"

"Please."

Erik began a tale of rejection and loneliness that brought Christine to tears. She could feel her heart breaking for him. She couldn't imagine the pain and suffering that he had experienced. As he spoke, Christine rose from her seat and approached him. She sat down beside him and reached her hands up to his face. Removing his mask she said, "You don't have to hide from me, Erik." She lovingly placed a hand on his deformed face.

Erik lowered his head, trying to hide his tears from Christine's sight. After a moment, he regained his composure. He removed Christine's hand from his face and placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Was there something else, my dear?"

Christine hesitated, unsure of whether she should tell Erik what she had seen. If he discovered what she'd done, he may become upset with her. Christine couldn't bear to cause him any more pain, but she was suffering as well. She had remembered nothing, knew nothing of her life save for what Erik had told her. If she truly remembered something that night, wouldn't Erik be happy for her? She simply had to know.

"Something happened to me tonight. I'm not entirely sure what it was, but I think I remembered something," she looked up hopefully at Erik.

"Go on," he replied gently.

"It's nothing spectacular; it was only a moment. There was a man, very handsome," she said slowly, her eyes shifting back and forth as she tried to describe the image in her mind. "He was sitting in a rocking chair holding a baby. They were both sleeping. It was so…peaceful. Do you know what it is?"

Erik's throat tightened and his limbs stiffened. In his foolish hopefulness he hadn't considered that she would remember her former life, with that boy. No, not a boy. A man. A man who had fathered Christine's child. He simply couldn't allow Christine to believe that this man existed. Their happiness depended on it.

"I'm afraid there is nothing I can tell you. I haven't the faintest idea what this could possibly be. I suspect that it is something from your imagination. An old dream perhaps," he said, turning away from her.

"I see," she replied dejectedly. Erik's answer had left her devastated. She gave him a weak smile before standing and walking somberly from the room. She closed her bedroom door before collapsing onto the bed. Christine hugged her pillow tightly to her chest and silently cried herself to sleep.


	10. A Discovery

A/N: This is going to be the last chapter before I go on vacation. I'll be back on the 19th and hopefully I'll be able to start writing again soon. Till then…

"_Raoul come quickly! Here, put your hand right here."_

"_Christine… that's our baby."_

"_And he's been kicking me all day long. He's going to be just as strong and brave as his father."_

"_You should be off your feet. Here, sit down. Is there anything I can get you?"_

"_Just stay here with me."_

Raoul woke from his dream in a cold sweat, the scent of Christine's vanilla perfume in the air.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur. I didn't mean to wake you," the servant spoke softly, setting a tray of food on the nightstand beside the bed.

"What is that fragrance you are wearing?"

The girl reached a hand up to her neck. "Vanilla. It was a gift from my mother. She saved for weeks to be able to buy it for me."

Raoul nodded slightly and waited for the girl to leave before rising from his bed. He breathed in deeply, letting the scent fill his lungs and make his head swim. However painful it was to think of Christine, Raoul wouldn't relinquish the memory of her. Everywhere he went with Christophe he would speak of Christine, in part to tell him the story of his mother's life and in part to keep her in his own mind. Her smile, her eyes, her laugh- Raoul treasured all of it.

A tiny pair of hands grasped the back of Raoul's pant legs. "Papa!" an eager voice called out. Raoul turned and looked down at the smiling face of his son. How he had grown in a few short months! He was an adventurous little boy, taking advantage of the newfound freedom that walking brought and following his two feet wherever they would take him. He ran through the house on wobbly legs, always careful to stay within view of his father.

Raoul squatted down in front of his son, "What do we have here?"

Christophe stuck out a chubby fist which held a small purple flower. "Papa," he repeated, forcing the object into Raoul's face.

Raoul chuckled and took the gift from his son. "Merci," he whispered as he leaned in and placed a small kiss on the tip of the boy's nose. The child let out a happy squeal as he turned and ran towards the front door. As he reached the open door he stopped and turned, looking for his father's approval.

"Would you like to take a walk?" Raoul questioned, joining Christophe at the door.

With a nod, the toddler was running once more, Raoul fast on his heels. They chased each other along the beach until the sun was high in the sky. From the house, Raoul heard Mama Valerius's servant call them back. He picked Christophe up and placed him on his shoulders, allowing the toddler to take hold of his hands.

"Madame Valerius requests that you join her for lunch."

"We will be in presently," Raoul answered, ducking to prevent Christophe from hitting his head on the door frame.

When he entered the room, Raoul found Mama Valerius as she spent everyday, sitting up in her bed, surrounded by pillows.

"What rubbish," she said as she removed her glasses and set aside her newspaper.

"What is rubbish?" Raoul asked with a teasing smile.

"This business about the Phantom of the Opera," she answered.

Raoul's face drained of all color at her response. He set Christophe down on the floor and picked up the newspaper from her lap. "What are you talking about?" he asked anxiously as he scanned the headlines.

"Oh nothing, dear. Someone claims to have seen him above the stage in the Opera Populaire. I just can't believe that this silly story ended up in the papers. Really, when will people give up on this myth?"

So he had been right all these years, right to fear the shadow in his nightmares. Raoul had told that Christine that he was gone, but he would always be there. Raoul found the article she had been talking about. It was a follow-up to a story they had run a few months earlier. "It's probably some publicity stunt staged by the managers. I'm sure they're desperate for attention," Raoul said, feigning confidence to hide the quiver in his voice. He noticed that the date of the original story was very near that of Christine's disappearance. He didn't know exactly what he was thinking, but he just knew it somehow had to be more than mere coincidence. At that moment Raoul decided it was time for him and his son to return home. He was going to discover what had been occurring in his absence.


	11. Fading Hope

A/N: So who missed me? Lol. Well, here comes the next installment of my little story. Thanks for sticking with me!

_Nothing can save you now, except perhaps Christine. Start a new life with me, buy his freedom with your love. Refuse me and you send your lover to his death! This is the choice, this is the point of no return!_

Once again the nightmare had pervaded his sleep. Before the delirium of the torture chamber set in, he had heard his captor speak those words to Christine. Not a day went by when he didn't feel the heavy weight of guilt over what she had been forced to do that night. Raoul blamed himself for putting her through that ordeal. If only he had been strong enough to just take his fiancée and walk away. Raoul wished he could amend his past mistakes, removing the scars that the tribulation had left upon both he and Christine. Although she would never voice it to him, Raoul knew that she had still thought of her other suitor. But whether the thoughts were fond recollections or frightened memories, he was unsure.

Glancing out the window of his carriage he saw the outline of the manor drawing nearer. His heart ached at the thought that Christine would not be there to greet him at the gate, as she would whenever he returned from business that required him to leave her. He pulled his son in tighter to him, burying his tears in the boy's soft hair. He hardly waited for the carriage to stop before he stepped from it, Christophe in his arms. He carried him up the stairs and laid him in the bassinet of the master bedroom. Raoul took a momentary look at the bed that he had shared with Christine and knew that he would not find peace there that night. Too many doubts and bad memories filled his head for sleep to once again claim him. Noiselessly closing the doors, he instructed Henriette to keep an eye on his son. She wanted to ask where he was going, but his dark eyes warned her not to.

Like a stray cat, Raoul moved silently through the empty streets. For hours he wandered the city, his eyes fixated on the ground beneath him. He didn't even look up when he heard a carriage approaching behind him. He stepped to the side, feeling a cold rush of wind as the carriage passed him. Pulling his coat tighter around him, he suddenly caught the scent of vanilla on the air. His stomach lurched as he looked up to see dark curls floating on the breeze. He tried to cry out, but the sound died in his throat. His legs felt useless, cemented to the spot where he stood. He gasped as the carriage began to vanish from his sight.

Hardly able to breathe, Raoul burst into a sprint. As if in a nightmare, it seemed the faster he ran the farther the carriage got. He watched in anguish as it turned a corner. Raoul finally reached the spot where he had seen the carriage disappear, only to find that he couldn't possibly know which way it had gone. He screamed Christine's name, hoping the night air would carry it to her. He strained his ears, wishing to hear her cry back, but he was met with an eerily tragic silence. Raoul ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Had he really seen her? Yes, he was sure of it. No matter how much time had passed, his heart would always recognize Christine's presence. But where could she have gone? Where was he now? Looming above the small houses that surrounded him was the Opera Populaire. Raoul felt a lump rise in his throat as he found that his suspicions had been correct. The doubt that had lingered in his mind was gone, replaced with the joy of knowing that Christine was alive, and fury that the Phantom had once again forced his way into her life. With a determined step, he ran once more to his old friend, desperate for help to save his wife.

He began to speak, his words mingling together in a frantic speech, "She's alive, Reinard! Alive! He has something to do with this, I know he does. I saw her, and then she was gone. It happened near the Opera house. He must still be there. I knew he would haunt us all our lives, and now he's taken her once more. We must go to her immediately! Who knows what atrocities she's had to endure!"

Raoul shuddered at the thought of Christine trapped in the dank lair, imagining what the Phantom might already have attempted. His eyes met with Reinard's and he saw the confusion they contained.

"Haven't you been listening to a damn word I've been saying?" he screamed. "She's alive, Christine's alive. And I know he has her!"

"Who has her mon amie?"

"The Phantom of the Opera!" he cried in frustration.

"A phantom?" Reinard asked condescendingly.

"He's not really a phantom, he's only a man," Raoul answered in an irritated voice. "But he _is_ real. And he's in love with Christine," he replied, his voice becoming soft and weak. "He has been for years. His love and obsession drove him to kidnap her once, and now I believe he has done it again."

"Calm down, Raoul. Give me some time and I will meet you at your home where we can discuss this further."

"There is no time for discussion. Don't you see? We must act now!" he replied, his aggravation growing.

"If you want my help, we must prepare a plan. Go now and I will be there shortly," Reinard commanded.

Raoul sat and pondered Reinard's words for a moment. The last time he had rushed to Christine's rescue unprepared, he had put them both in even more danger. It would be ill-advised for him to venture into the Phantom's lair on his own. He had no choice but to succumb to the inspector's demands.

"Very well. I anxiously await your arrival. But please, for my wife's sake, do not tarry," Raoul gave his resigned answer and left the inspector alone at his desk.

The journey home seemed agonizingly endless to Raoul. He knew where Christine was, so how could his feet be leading him in the opposite direction? He felt his tearing anew; the only pain worse than believing that she was gone was knowing that she was near and yet out of his reach. He paced uneasily in front of the door, constantly looking out the window at any sound, only to find them resonating form within his own mind. Finally he heard the approach of several horses and a carriage. He rushed out to greet his friend and partner.

"So, you brought the cavalry? Good. We'll need all the strength we can muster to fight this thing. If you come inside I can tell you how we plan to enter and any traps I am aware of," Raoul spoke as the men dismounted.

"Raoul, I would like you to meet Dr. Bridot," Reinard began, gesturing to a man at his side.

"A doctor? I don't understand."

Reinard nodded toward the house and a woman Raoul had not noticed before entered through the front door. Raoul turned to follow her, but felt his arms being pulled behind him; two men had him in a tight grip.

"What is the meaning of this?" He struggled for a moment, but froze in shock when he saw the woman emerge with the sleeping Christophe in her arms.

"What are you doing with my son? You can't take him from me! Please!" Raoul struggled violently against the powerful arms that held him.

Dr. Bridot stepped forward with a syringe in his hands. He tapped the side before plunging it into Raoul's arm. "This should help you relax."

"I'm sorry, old friend. I wish I had some other alternative, but you should have heard yourself; you were hysterical. All this talk of your wife being the prisoner of some opera ghost…" Reinard trailed off.

Raoul's eyes became heavy as the sedative began to set in. His muscles started to relax and his limbs went limp.

"Don't fear for Christophe. We have found a suitable home that has agreed to take him in. He shall be well tended to."

At the doctor's order, Raoul was lifted into the carriage where he soon lost consciousness.


	12. Dreaming of What Might Be

A ghostly whisper, barely audible over the sound of the carriage, echoed in her ears. Christine thought she had heard someone call out her name. She glanced behind her, hoping to find someone there. Her eyes met only a lonely street and dark windows.

"Armand, did you hear that?" she asked, her eyes still scanning the street behind her.

"I'm sorry, Madame. I heard nothing."

Christine sighed resignedly. Everyday that went by without a memory or recognition seemed to steal another piece of her soul. Not that she wasn't content with Erik. She loved him, and she wanted to be truly happy with him, but her life simply didn't feel complete. For some reason unknown to her, the man from her memory was constantly on her mind. She knew every curve of his face, where every strand of hair lay. She caught herself thinking about him late at night, imaging him standing before her, speaking to her. In her mind his voice was warm and soothing; it brought calm to her soul. She knew that her heart belonged with Erik's, but this man stirred a different sensation within her. When Erik sang, he aroused a frenzied passion within her, but the thought of this other man made her feel safe and loved. What was she thinking? She had a husband who loved her to no end, and yet her thoughts were filled with a man who probably didn't even exist. Christine shook her head, trying to remove the guilt that consumed her.

"Madame?" Armand spoke, his hand extended to help her from the carriage. "You seem quite distracted lately. Is everything alright?"

"Of course," she lied, offering him a smile. "I shall not be requiring your services tomorrow night. I think I will spend the evening at home."

"As you wish, Madame," he replied as he tipped his hat to her.

Christine moved skillfully through the obscurity of the Opera house. She had learned well to find her way in darkness; it was now like instinct to her. As she moved towards her room, a voice behind Christine froze her blood.

"Where have you been?"

Christine spun around. Erik emerged from the shadows behind her. "Erik, I…"

"You thought I was asleep. Where is it that you have been sneaking off to?" he asked, approaching her.

Christine's mouth hung agape. She tried to find an explanation for her absence, but she knew that it was useless trying to lie to Erik. She searched his eyes and began to speak, her bottom lip trembling, "I hired a driver to take me through the city at night. I used some of your money to pay him. I know that you forbid me to leave, but I couldn't resist." Her head dropped, "I'm sorry."

Erik's hardened features began to soften. "I'm sorry if I made you feel like a prisoner in your own home. I wish you to continue your nightly rides, if it is what will make you happy."

"I would be happier if you would join me," she looked up hopefully.

"Who am I to deny my wife," he replied, stroking her cheek. Christine leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his skin upon hers.

"I have some business to tend to tomorrow. I may be gone all day. I ask you not to leave without me ever again."

"I will obey, but I still don't understand why you act this way sometimes," she answered.

"I have my reasons."

Christine nodded, faithfully accepting her husband's answer. She took his hand and began to lead him toward her room. "Come, it's late. We should retire."

Erik lay rigidly in the bed, unable to adjust to the change from his coffin. Christine curled up beside him, nuzzling her face into his neck. She gently began to stroke his arm, her fingers leaving burning trails within his skin. She felt his body begin to quiver, reacting to her touch.

"Erik…" she spoke, desire in her voice, "sing for me."

He looked down upon her pleading eyes. She awakened in him emotions and longings he had never known. She could ask him anything and he would be unable to deny her. Softly his ethereal voice surrounded her.

"Say you want me with me with you, here beside you. Anywhere you go, let me go too. Christine, that's all I ask of you."

Erik's voice filled her head, drowning out all other thoughts. She felt him consume her, taking over all of her being. She felt herself moving, almost flying. She was no longer in her bed, but standing atop a snowy rooftop. The arms that held her were not Erik's; the voice that sang to her didn't belong to him. She turned to look behind her, to see the face of the man that now caressed her. She became lost in the crystal blue eyes that claimed her gaze. Somehow she felt at home there.

"Christine?" Erik's voice pulled her back to reality.

"Hmm?" she answered lazily.

"You seemed to be somewhere else," he said with a puzzled look.

"I was. Your voice lifted me straight to heaven on angels' wings," she replied, pulling tightly against him.

"There are no angels," he said coldly.

"I…I'm sorry," she said, bewildered by his reaction. "I was just trying to complement you."

Once again he had upset and confused her. She couldn't possibly understand why he would say such things. He would see to it that she never would. "No. It is I who should apologize. You did nothing wrong."

Christine lifted her head, placing kisses along Erik's jaw line until her lips reached his. She let them linger there for a moment before laying her head on his chest and drifting off to sleep, the warmth of her dream man's arms still hanging upon her.


	13. Going Under

"_Raoul, I can't stand it any longer! You can't keep hovering over me like this. I'm not glass; I'm not going to break."_

"_I know that you feel like I'm sheltering you Christine, but I don't know what else to do. Ever since that night…you haven't been yourself. You cry at night, you stay in your room all day…you flinch whenever I come near you.""_

"_I'm sorry if it hurts you."_

"_Please Christine, this isn't about me. I'm worried about you. Tell me what I need to do to help you."_

"_I don't know what to do. Just give me some time and try to be patient with me. And remember that no matter how I behave, I love you. I will never regret loving you."_

Raoul woke from his dream, finding that the hand he had felt upon his shoulder was, in reality, a tingling itch. He reached up to scratch it, but found that he was unable to move his arms. He opened his eyes and looked down in horror, realizing that he was being restrained with a straight jacket. He looked around his bare room, finding only a single small window in the door. Raoul rushed forward and pressed his face against the glass.

"Someone help me! I don't belong here!" he screamed, his breath forming puffs of fog on the cold glass.

Raoul threw himself back against the wall when a hand slammed against the window. "Keep it down!"

Raoul slid to the floor, the full realization of where he was finally hitting him. They must have taken him to the Asylum de Bicêtre. Hidden in a secluded corner of Paris, it was an ominous building that echoed with the screams of the disturbed. He had heard stories of the treatment that the patients received there. He knew that some were put on display as part of a twisted freak show. Surely they couldn't do the same to him; he wasn't insane. Raoul couldn't fight back the fear that consumed his heart. But despite the grim circumstances in which he now found himself, his personal pain was overshadowed by his anguish for his wife and son. His heart wrenched, believing that he was responsible for their plight. In the back of his mind, he once again heard the tiny voice that plagued him in his moments of silent self-doubt. _You have failed them both. You're nothing more than a useless coward. Perhaps they will both be better off without you._

Raoul was grateful for the sound of a key in the lock which distracted him from his self-imposed torment. The doctor that had helped bring him there entered the room, a tall, muscular man following behind him.

"Good morning, Monsieur de Chagny. Do you remember who I am?"

"You're the doctor…from the other night," he answered tensely.

"That's correct. I'm Dr. Bridot. Do understand why you are here?"

"Because of what I said… about my wife. You believe I'm insane."

"You've suffered a very serious traumatic event, Monsieur. I believe that this could be the cause of your delusions. You want your wife to be alive, so you created a scenario in which she was not dead, but being held captive somewhere. Your mind deceived you," he spoke matter-of-factly. "But hopefully, with some treatment, we'll be able to help you accept reality and abandon these illusory beliefs."

With a gesture from the doctor, the other man stepped forward and lifted Raoul to his feet. Raoul stole glances into the other rooms as he was forced down the hall. His stomach churned, bile rising up in his throat. These people looked like prisoners of war, bruised and emaciated, their eyes glazed over. Raoul was so absorbed in shocked disgust that he hadn't noticed when they arrived at a large iron door. He was pushed inside, stumbling to his knees. In the middle of the room in which he now sat was a large tub. It was filled with water that appeared slightly brown. Chunks of ice floated amongst the dirt, catching the candlelight and causing it to dance within the water.

"This is what we call 'cold-water immersion therapy'. We have found it successful in calming the mind and reducing manic behavior," Dr. Bridot said, adding more ice to the tub. "Andrew, please prepare Monsieur de Chagny for his treatment," he directed his assistant.

Raoul took a few nervous steps backward as Andrew approached him.

"Remember now, Monsieur, this is for your benefit," he spoke with a deep voice.

For a large man, Andrew was surprisingly agile. He caught Raoul off-guard, tackling him to the ground. With quick hands he removed Raoul's clothes, leaving him naked on the cold stone floor.

"I believe we are ready to begin," Dr. Bridot said signaling to Andrew, who grabbed hold of Raoul's arms and dragged him toward the tub.

"Please, Monsieur de Chagny, relax," the doctor said, trying to calm Raoul's struggles. "I understand your fear. Most of our patients resist their first few treatments. This should help you," he added, once again injecting Raoul with a sedative.

Even as the drug began to take effect, Raoul was fully conscious of what was being done to him; behind his frozen eyes, his mind was absorbing every detail. He felt the icy water cover him as he was lowered into the tub. A hand held him under as the last breath within his lungs escaped. Uselessly he willed his arms to move, finally slipping into black unconsciousness.

The days ran together, an indistinguishable mix of physical pain, emotional torment, and drug-induced stupors. Raoul began to feel himself slipping away as the treatments marched on ceaselessly. He would have retreated completely into his own mind, had his opportunity for escape not come early one morning. Andrew had entered Raoul's cell to prepare him for the day's treatment. He removed Raoul's straight jacket and led him into the hall. A commotion in another room grabbed Andrew's attention for a brief moment. Fortunately for Raoul, his treatments had done nothing to diminish his reflexes. In a split-second Raoul had sprinted to the end of the hall. With a strained effort he burst through the doors, the sunlight almost blinding him after all the time he had spent in the darkness of his prison.

Raoul breathlessly reached his home, collapsing inside. "Henriette," he called in a hoarse voice.

"Monsieur!" she exclaimed in surprise, rushing forward and helping Raoul to a chair. "Mon Dieu! You are never going to believe what has happened," she beamed.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

Henriette stepped to the side, turning her head towards the doorway and grinning brightly. Raoul's eyes followed her gaze and he froze in shock.

"Christine?" his voice cracked.

His wife stood in the doorway holding Christophe, a soft smile upon her face. She walked up to Raoul and gently caressed his cheek, wiping away the crystal tears. His eyes didn't leave hers as he stood and pulled her close to him.

"How?" he asked, barely able to speak.

"You're my husband. Did you honestly think anything could keep me away from you? Now we can be a family again," she answered, running her fingers through Christophe's hair.

"He doesn't appear to making much improvement," Dr. Bridot said to Andrew as they watched Raoul through the small window in his cell. "His fantasies seem to have grown increasingly prevalent. I'm going in to speak with him."

Andrew locked the door behind Dr. Bridot as he squatted down beside Raoul. "Monsieur de Chagny? Monsieur?" he spoke.

Slowly, Raoul lifted his head and his eyes met the steely grey eyes of the doctor.

"Monsieur, are you prepared to discuss your wife?"

Raoul answered him in a lethargic voice, "My wife was murdered; she's gone."


	14. Becoming Whole

Despite the impenetrable darkness of his lair, Erik could have sworn he felt the gentle warmth of sunrise on his face. The light that he had forever banished from his life had returned to him with Christine. That morning he had awoken with her still wrapped in his arms, her soft curls grazing his neck. If not for the business he had to tend to that day, he would have stayed with her that way all morning. He gently lifted her arm from his chest, careful not to disturb her. Once all was prepared for his departure, he turned and looked upon Christine once more. Her angelic face appeared so innocent while she was lost in sleep. He leaned down and placed a light kiss on her forehead, causing her to stir slightly and murmur in her sleep.

"I shall return shortly with a surprise for you, my angel," he whispered sweetly in her ear.

As he moved towards the lake, Erik paused to look in an uncovered mirror. All his life, he had hidden from his own reflection, ashamed and afraid of the repulsive monster he found there. But if a person as incredible as Christine could accept him this way, then there must be something there of value, something that he hadn't seen. Erik ran his fingers over the curves of his mask. No matter how accepted he felt within his own home, he could not trust others outside of his world to feel the same way. He made sure his mask was fitted in place and wrapped his cape around his shoulders.

"You shall have the family that was always denied you," he promised the image in the mirror.

Erik made the journey in excited, yet controlled anticipation. He kept the curtains of his carriage drawn, unwilling to look out on the world that had rejected him. What did he need of them? Soon he would have what he had always envied them. As he approached his destination, he could hear the laughter of children. The home that stood before him was modest, yet there was a warmth about it. Erik gave three forceful knocks at the door and stepped back. The door swung open and a girl of no more than six looked up at him in wonderment.

"What's wrong with your face?" she questioned.

"Marguerite, don't be rude," her mother spoke firmly, sending the young girl back inside the house.

For a moment the two adults stood in awkward silence. Erik was not accustomed to engaging in polite conversation with complete strangers. He was a master of many arts, but being face-to-face with this woman, he couldn't manage to form words into speech.

Finally the woman spoke, "Is there something that I can help you with?"

Erik cleared his throat, "I believe that there is a child in your care, the son of my poor departed sister."

"Ah, I know the child you speak of," she replied knowingly. "We have tried our best, but nothing seems to bring him from his melancholy."

"Understandable, given the loss he has suffered," Erik said unfeelingly, reaching into his pocket. "I would quite like to have my nephew at home with me. This should cover for all your troubles," he added as he handed her a roll of bills.

"Monsieur, this is most generous," she said in amazement, running her fingers over the money, "but I'm not sure if…"

"I feel that the boy will be better served if he lives with family."

"I wasn't made aware that the boy had any family," she replied suspiciously.

"I'm afraid my sister and I had quite a falling out many years ago. We had recently gotten back in touch, when she was suddenly taken from us," he answered her, his head dropped in feigned mourning.

"Well, if you're sure you can take care of him…" the woman said, her attention once again on the money he had given her.

"I shall wait for him and any of his possessions in my carriage," Erik spoke with authority.

"I'll make sure they are brought out presently," she responded to his back.

Erik sat in his carriage, the drawn curtains providing him secure darkness. As he waited, his thoughts wandered back over the events of the past night. The rift that had existed between himself and Christine was slowly being repaired. He hoped with this act that Christine would finally and completely sever all ties to that foolish boy and accept him as her only true husband. Erik was brought back from his musings when he heard a soft tap at the carriage door. When he opened it, the young girl he had seen before was standing before him, holding the hand of a small boy.

"Here is his bag. There isn't much, just some clothes and a few toys," she said quietly.

Erik placed the bag on the seat beside him. He extended his arms and lifted the boy into his lap, gently cradling him against his chest. He tapped the window in front of him and the driver pulled away from the house. The boy's cries pierced Erik's ears and large tears rolled down his chubby cheeks. Erik remembered how he had sung to a young Christine when she cried, mourning the loss of her father. His voiced soothed the child into an easy slumber, a peaceful sleep which he remained in the duration of the trip.

Christine was waiting for him when Erik returned to the lair. "Where have you been? I was starting to worry," she called playfully, running towards the lake.

Christine gasped as Erik stepped from the boat, a child in his arms. Erik lowered the boy to the ground, his fingers hidden within the chubby fists. On unsteady legs the toddler walked towards Christine, collapsing in her open arms. She lifted him up and held him close to her, tears welling up in her eyes.

"He's so beautiful, Erik," she said, fingering his blonde curls. "Where did he come from?"

"An orphan, I'm afraid. I know how you've longed for something more, for something to complete you. We can be a family Christine."

Christine beamed, her eyes moving from the young boy in her arms to the husband who stood before her. "What is his name?"

Christine didn't notice the victorious grin crossed Erik's face, for it was quickly replaced with a smile of genuine happiness, "His name is Christophe."

It seemed that all the years of silently stalking the opera house, veiling himself in the shadows, had served him well. Erik had learned of the Vicomte's incarceration and the loss of his son through the chatty gossip that rang throughout the halls. He glanced to the chair where Christine sat with their son. The child's giggles and smiles were matched with Christine's. She now had everything she needed to keep her happy and content; she wanted for nothing. There would be no more memories of her former lover, of this Erik was sure. Erik laughed quietly to himself, realizing that through an ironic twist of fate, he owed all his current happiness to that wretched boy.


	15. Revelations and Resolutions

The dark clouds that hung overhead swelled with rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, threatening the fury of the approaching storm. Henriette stood under the balcony at the front of the de Chagny manor, awaiting the return of her master. The entire household was moving around frantically, like bees in a hive. They had received notice, instructing them that all must be prepared for the Vicomte's return; he must be kept calm and relaxed. No mention of his wife should be made, at least not for several weeks. It could upset him enough to plunge him back into delirium. Anything that belonged to her had been removed and placed in the cellar- clothes, jewelry, paintings, anything that could remind the suffering Vicomte of her.

The asylum's carriage clamored through the mud as the downpour suddenly fell upon them. Raoul emerged from inside, his skin pale, his eyes sunken. Henriette covered her mouth, trying to prevent the shocked gasp from escaping. She reached forward and offered him her arm for support. She thanked the driver as she led Raoul inside the house.

"You look very thin, Monsieur," she said as she helped him to a seat, her voice a sad whisper. "I shall bring you something to eat immediately."

Raoul looked around the room as though he were seeing it for the first time. He had become so accustomed to his surroundings in the asylum that his aristocratic home felt foreign to him. He clumsily stumbled through dinner, his proper manners all but disappeared. After he had eaten, Henriette took him upstairs where a bath was prepared. Raoul soaked in the water for almost an hour, his thoughts drifting uncontrollably. One moment he was thinking about the asylum, the next it was a memory of learning to ride a horse.

"My poor Christine," he cried softly, his mind finally settling on his lost wife. "I would give anything to face death in your stead."

Minutes later, he was standing out on the balcony, the rain soaking through his clothes. He looked down over the edge. How easy it would be to just let himself go. What did he have left here to live for? They had taken his son, God had taken his wife. Raoul placed a hand on the rail, his resolve to jump becoming greater. Suddenly, his gold cufflink broke free of his sleeve and fell to the ground. His eyes followed as it weaved through the room, disappearing under the bed. Raoul walked towards it, dropping to his hands and knees. His eyes fell upon a small wooden box. He picked it up and sat on the bed with it in his lap. He wiped his hand across the top, clearing away the dust. Inside he found some sheet music and a program from the Opera Populaire. Something stirred in Raoul's memory, something about the Opera house. And Christine. Slowly the fog in his mind began to lift. He had seen her, he was sure of it. They had believed him to be insane, but Raoul knew he was right. That monster had her trapped, and he was the only one who knew it. Raoul took off like lightning to the stables, his only thoughts those of his wife's rescue.

Without hesitation he burst into the Opera Populaire, drawing the attention of all inside. He moved quickly past them, barely even noticing their presence. Raoul prepared himself for Christine's despairing screams as he once again approached the place which held his deepest fear. He listened carefully and thought he could hear the sound of laughter. Surely this was one of the Phantom's infamous tricks. There could be no laughter in the depths of hell. Raoul closed his eyes tightly, trying to adjust to the darkness. When he opened them again, the sight that lay before him nearly threw him back. Christine sat in a large armchair, reading to their son and giggling joyously. Raoul felt his world spinning, and he was losing his balance.

"Christine?" he called out in heartrending confusion.

Christine looked up from the pages, her eyes going wide and her mouth dropping. "Raoul?"

Without any thought or knowledge on her part, the name had escaped Christine's lips. She recognized that face, she knew that voice. Her eyes still locked with Raoul's, she moved her son from her lap to the chair and slowly approached the man before her. She reached an apprehensive hand up to his face, tracing the curves with her fingers. His hand captured hers and brought it down to his chest.

"Do you feel it?" he asked, his voice pained.

He saw realization spread across her face as she answered softly, "It beats to the same time as mine."

"It's almost as if we share the same heart," he finished for her.

"Oh, Raoul," she buried her face in his chest, her tears falling freely.

Raoul smiled brightly into her hair and let out a relieved sigh. He couldn't believe that he was really holding her in his arms. Christine clung to him tightly, when he was suddenly ripped from her embrace. Erik had wrapped his Punjab lasso tightly around Raoul's neck and pulled him back. He now had Raoul on his knees, the rope becoming dangerously tighter. Christine was shocked at how calm, almost happy Erik was as he slowly took Raoul's life from him. She dashed off into the Louis-Philippe room, frantically tossing trunks and boxes until she found what she had been searching for. Raoul's face was becoming blue, and darkness threatened to overcome him. He was granted reprieve when a shot rang out through the lair. Raoul was breathing rapidly, pulling himself back from the edge of death. Both men looked up in amazement as Christine brandished the pistol she had found. The loud noise frightened Christophe, who had retreated behind his mother's dress.

"Let him go, Erik," she said forcefully through her tears.

"Christine, you don't know what you are saying. I must end this now."

"You would kill me before my wife and son?" Raoul growled.

"They are mine now. You don't deserve them," Erik replied in a cold voice.

"I remember, Erik. I remember everything. My marriage, all that happened before it, all the lies you told me since I returned here," Christine spoke again. "Why?" the confused pain with which he had once spoken those words now resonated in her voice.

"I have no explanation that will satisfy you," he answered. "I loved you. But that was never enough for you, was it? You left me no other choice."

"All my life, Erik," she said, her whole body trembling. "ALL MY LIFE! All you've ever done is deceive me. You lied to me because you loved me? Did you ever consider that I would come to you willingly? I loved you," her voice slowly died down, "I did."

Raoul's heart shattered, listening to his wife's heartfelt confession. So she had loved him. Raoul had been his replacement. She couldn't have what she wanted, so she had married him. All those nights, she had probably wished that it was Erik who was embracing her.

"But it was all a lie. You made me believe something that wasn't real. I found someone who I could really love, who could love me back. And there were no deceptions, no darkness. You tried to take that from me, and I hated you for it."

The knife that had plunged itself into Raoul's heart now turned itself upon Erik. Both men listened in raptured silence as Christine's thoughts and emotions fell freely with her tears.

"He could never know the passionate love that we shared," Erik said, glaring down at Raoul.

"I don't need someone who will allow their obsession for me cloud their judgment, someone who believes that murder and threats are acceptable in the pursuit of love. I need someone who will love me even after passion fades, someone who doesn't want to possess me but share a life with me. You tried to possess me; you tried to force my love. In doing that, do you realize what you stole from me? After that night, I couldn't bear to be with other people yet I was terrified to be alone. I couldn't even let my own fiancé touch me!"

Christine stopped speaking, her sobs overwhelming her. Suddenly a calm stillness came over her. "You have haunted me long enough. I will not suffer any more guilt over what has happened to you. You brought this upon yourself." The gun still in her hand, she scooped Christophe up into her arms. "I am taking my family and we are leaving this place," she said forcefully.

Erik's hands once again pulled on the noose that held Raoul captive. "This is your family now. Soon you will forget he ever existed."

Christine looked Erik defiantly in the eye and pointed the gun directly at his head. "Let him go."

With a quick motion, Erik released the lasso from Raoul's neck. Raoul's blue eyes sparkled as they once again met Christine's. In every book he'd ever read, or story he'd ever been told, poetic words always flowed easily between the reunited lovers. But all Raoul could manage to say was simply, "I love you."

Christine closed her eyes, savoring the words and the voice which, for months, she had heard only in her dreams. She turned one last time to look at Erik, the warmth in her face now faded. "I never wish to see you again. Just leave us be."

Raoul gently took hold of her arm and led her out of the lair. Erik stood in stunned silence long after they had left. "Christine?" he called out into the emptiness. He would have endured a thousand years of her angry screams just for the sake of hearing her voice. The desolate silence to which he was now subjected was torture. For a brief moment he had experienced the height of elation, and in one day it had been taken from him. He was once again alone.

A/N: I'm not done with this yet so don't give up on me! Thanks again for all the reviews. Keep 'em coming!


	16. Pleasure and Pain

The dewy grass was cold on their bare feet, but neither appeared to notice. For hours neither had spoken, content to revel in the simple existence of the other. The journey home had been spent in exhausted conversation, explanations and the merging of two lives torn apart. Both listened as the other spoke of the joys and sorrows, the longings and the loss. When all had been told, words suddenly became unimportant. Words couldn't express feelings that were inexplicable, indescribable, and incomprehensible. Through the darkness, Raoul and Christine had clung to each other. Christine had marveled at how much Christophe had grown since she had seen him last. She was grateful that Raoul had spoken of her to him, shown him pictures, kept her alive in his life. At least he still recognized his own mother. For a moment, tears brimmed her eyes as she realized just how much she had missed while she was away. She silently cursed Erik, blaming him for her loss. But as the evening wore on and the sunlit sky softened into night, her heart once again opened itself for him. Even as she stood in the open field at the back of her home, reunited with the love of her life, Erik was in her thoughts. The fury and the hatred that had flooded her soul was now receding as pity took its place. She pushed him from her mind, turning her attention once more to her husband.

"Are you going to ask me?" she spoke softly, her fingers entwined with Raoul's.

"Ask you what?" he questioned, noticing her uneasiness.

"If…if I was faithful to you," she answered, her dark eyes afraid to meet his.

He placed a hand under her chin and tilted her face up towards his. "That is of no importance to me," he answered sincerely. "You can't understand the pain that seared through me when I thought I had lost you forever. I thought I would eventually become numb, but there was nothing but the pain. And only your touch could heal me. I'm so grateful to have you back in my life that I can see past anything that happened while you stayed with him."

The apprehension in her face melted away as Raoul's words calmed her fears. She trusted what he had said, and she knew that he would never question her about what had occurred beneath the Opera Populaire. Despite this, she felt compelled to tell him, knowing that the truth would comfort him. "I did remain true to you. Even when I couldn't remember who I was, even as I played the part of Erik's wife, you were always with me. Your face, your voice, they were always in my mind. I couldn't give myself to Erik. I just couldn't."

Raoul couldn't suppress the smile that grew on his face. He had been honest when he told her that it hadn't mattered; even if she had confessed that she and Erik had never left the bed he would have rushed to take her in his arms. But somehow, knowing that their love was strong enough to survive even when she couldn't remember it made him feel even closer to her. He had clung to that love in his darkest hour, and it had pulled her back to him.

Christine's lips curled up and returned Raoul's smile. She once again took his hand in hers and turned to lead him back towards the house. Along the way they, passed the old rocking chairs that sat at the west end of the manor. Raoul and Christine had spent many evenings in those chairs, watching the sky turn shades of pink as the sun sank beneath the trees. Christine ran her hand along the arm the chair, suddenly pulling back in pain. Raoul reached out and grabbed her hand, concern apparent on his face.

"Sliver," she winced.

Raoul scanned her finger, searching for the intruding piece of wood. With a delicate touch he forced the sliver out of her finger, placing a light kiss over the small wound it left behind. His hand gently stroked hers as he gazed into her eyes. They had become hazy with desire, a seductive smile on her lips. Raoul scooped Christine up into his arms and her hands locked behind his neck. He leaned his head down and his lips claimed hers. He felt her respond to his touch, her body quivering with emotion. At that moment, all he needed was to feel her skin against his. His feet led him instinctively to their bedroom. They spent the night locked in a passionate embrace, forgetting that another world existed outside their bed.

In that other world, Erik was once again alone in the darkness. Erik could pinpoint the moment he had felt his heart stop beating. When Christine embraced her true husband and abandoned Erik to unending solitude, his soul escaped from his body. Now he lay in his coffin, a corpse waiting for death to carry him away. Outside of his tomb, he heard the reaper approaching. He listened to the destruction that was occurring in his home- shattering glass, searching hands, muffled yells. Finally, the lid of his coffin was violently thrown open. He didn't even flinch as he was ripped from his isolation and dragged from his home. He made no inquiries to the identity of his captors, nor their intentions. His body was limp as he allowed them to throw him into a jail cell. Without a word, he endured their insults. None of it mattered anymore. There was no life for him outside of Christine.

After hours of being alone in the cell, a short, stout man entered to provide Erik with food. Erik felt no shock or fear as the man spoke, his voice cold and unfeeling. "They're accusing you of murder, you know. They're going to hang you."


	17. Ordinary

A/N: Glitter Queen- I don't mind at all if you write a one-shot. Let me know when you finish cuz I'd love to read it! (And don't worry, I am going somewhere with the murder charges.)

The first rays of sunrise slipped between the curtains and beat against Raoul's eyelids. He shut them tighter, trying to force back the day, unwilling to relinquish the night. Lazily he moved his arm to embrace Christine, but his hand fell on cold sheets. His eyes fluttered open and scanned the room, but he couldn't find his wife. His mind quickly returned to the morning he had first discovered that she was missing. The familiar sickness returned to his stomach as he thought that perhaps he had invented her return.

"Monsieur," Henriette called through the door, "Madame Christine requests that you join her on the veranda for breakfast."

Relief flooded through him and the breath he had been holding was released with a deep sigh. "I shall be right down," he answered, quickly dressing.

Raoul was careful to make no noise as he stepped outside. Christine sat at the table, watching Christophe chase a small butterfly. Her back was to him, but Raoul was sure that she was smiling. For a long moment he merely stood there, watching the scene playing out before him. He feared that, should he interrupt it, it would somehow be lost to him like a mirage in the desert. Finally Raoul approached Christine and placed his hands on her shoulders, running them down her arms and back up again. Christine leaned her head back into his stomach, her eyes closed. Raoul kissed the top of her head before drawing up a chair and sitting beside her. He picked up the newspaper that lay on the table and casually thumbed through it. Christine noticed that even as he read, one of his hands still rested on her leg, his fingers gently running over the fabric of her dress. Raoul had always been affectionate, but it seemed to her that lately he took special care to always be touching her somehow. He must have found the contact comforting, and she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy it.

"He's amazing, Raoul. He already reminds me so much of you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you really think so?" he asked, setting his paper aside and glancing over at his son. "Whenever I looked in his eyes, I always saw you staring back. It was almost like having you here even though you were gone."

His last comment caused Christine to drop her head and her dreamy smile to fade away. Raoul's emotions quickly changed to match hers as he reached a hand up to stroke her cheek.

"I'm sorry, chéri. I…I didn't mean to upset you," he apologized.

Christine forced a small smile. "It's not your fault, mon amour." She looked up into his face, her eyes once again shining. "At least for now, can we pretend that I was never gone?"

"Anything you wish," he answered, leaning in to kiss her.

She smiled against his mouth, her hands holding his face close to hers.

"Maman," Christophe interrupted as he tugged at Christine's dress.

Christine looked down at him in surprise. "Raoul, did you hear him?" she asked excitedly. "He said 'Maman'!" She lifted the boy onto her lap and kissed his forehead.

"I was thinking that we could take Christophe out on the horses and have a picnic, the way we used to," he said, rubbing his son's back.

Christine gave him a quizzical look. They had never taken Christophe out on the horses; he had been too young before. Christine waited for Raoul to explain himself, but he simply smiled back at her, awaiting her response. She thought for a moment, and then it suddenly dawned on her. Raoul was willing to indulge her imagination, making up a life for the time she had missed.

"That sounds lovely, dear. We must be sure to take him down by the lake again. He laughed so hard every time his feet touched the water," she said, happily playing along.

Raoul chuckled, enjoying the game as he had enjoyed their pretend engagement. It seemed so long ago, almost in another life. He was happy to know that despite their experiences, they had retained some of the innocence they once possessed.

"Oh, before I forget," he began, "a man from the paper is coming tomorrow to write a story about us. You know, to clear things up. I think it best to leave our 'friend' out of it and simply say that a kind family took care of you until you got your memory back."

"You're probably right," Christine responded quietly, leaning back slightly so that their servant could set the silver tray of food down on the table. The servant was a younger woman that Raoul didn't recognize. "Who was she?" he asked after she had left, pouring Christine a cup of tea.

"Her name is Michelle. I hired her a week or so before…" she stopped quickly in the middle of her sentence.

Raoul looked up and saw the tears once again forming in Christine's eyes. "I'll make sure Emile has the horses ready so that we can leave later this afternoon," he said, trying to change the subject.

The day passed by, calm and uneventful; Christine and Raoul were both satisfied to have it that way. What Christine had begun to suspect after she became engaged to Raoul, she now found to be true. She no longer required the excitement that the Opera Populaire had once afforded her. She wanted the rest of her life to pass in this manner- simple days spent with the family that she loved. After all, she thought, there's nothing wrong with being normal. She made up her mind then to have a quiet life. She was successful in her endeavor, until the next week when the paper arrived.


	18. Promises

Raoul ran his hand through his disheveled hair. He had spent the entire morning going over his family's finances, and each time he checked the figures, they appeared to be worse. It seemed that Raoul had not inherited the knack for business that his father and brother had shared. He had never actually taken much interest in his family's business transactions. Raoul had longed for a life that consisted of more than the amount of money that could be made. He had finally found that in Christine and their son. But they relied on him to support them, and he owed them some security. Raoul had returned once more to the pile of books that lay before him, determined to find a solution, when Christine angrily burst through the door.

"Please tell me you had nothing to do with this," her livid tone broke into Raoul's worried mind.

"What are you talking about?" Raoul responded, his eyes questioning hers.

Christine said nothing. She glared at him angrily as she threw a newspaper down on his desk. Raoul's pulse quickened as he looked down at the largest story on the front page.

"Phantom of the Opera Populaire Captured," he read aloud, his voice almost shaking. "Christine, I…"

Christine broke in, her voice accusing. "They are charging him with the murder of Joseph Buquet, Piangi, and…" she paused for a moment, unsure of whether she should mention the last name, "And your brother."

Philippe's death had been especially painful for Raoul. He had learned of it a few days after their escape from the Opera house. He had been forced to read it in the newspaper, as he and Christine had been unwilling to meet with anyone. Raoul had blamed himself for what had happened to his brother. If he hadn't dashed off to be Christine's hero, Philippe never would have followed after him. He had always acted like Raoul's own father, taking the place that death had made available. Raoul had convinced himself that Philippe would still be alive had he not been so rash in his pursuit of Christine.

His wife began to speak again, "The paper says there's no doubt he will be convicted. They're going to hang him." She covered her mouth, trying to hold back her sobs.

Christine's cries tore at Raoul's heart. He stood to embrace her, but she backed away, raising a hand to stop him. "Raoul, you know how I hate being lied to. Just be honest, did you do this?"

"Of course not! How could you think that?" he asked resentfully.

"Raoul," she replied gently, "when someone fears for the people that they love, they will do things that…"

"No," he interrupted her. "I could never hurt you that way. I know what he meant to you."

Christine searched his eyes. She wanted to believe him, but she knew the lengths that Raoul would go to in order to protect her and their son.

"Do you swear to me that you were not involved in this?" she asked, her bottom lip trembling.

"On my life," he answered sincerely.

Christine gave him a small nod, accepting him at his word. He had never lied to her before; she had begun to think that he was incapable of misleading her.

"I…I can't be here right now. I need to do something, I need some air," she said frantically, her breath coming in short, shallow sobs.

"Christine, it's going to be alright. We'll figure something out. I promise you," he responded, cupping her face in his hands.

"I'm going out for a walk. I doubt I shall be gone for long," she spoke, her voice once again calm but still shaking.

"Would you like me to accompany you?" he asked with concern.

"I think it better that I go alone. Don't worry, I'll just be around the grounds," she replied, turning her head into his hands to lightly kiss his palms. "I love you," she said wearily.

_What in the world are you doing?_ Christine asked herself as she approached the edge of the city. _You shouldn't be doing this. Turn around now, there's still time. _She knew that she should do what her head told her, but she found that her legs wouldn't let her. They were weak and shaking, but they were determined. Before she knew what she was doing she had passed a handful of bills to the guard and entered the cell. Christine's heart caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon Erik's form huddled in the corner. It was obvious that he was attempting to hide the deformed side of his face, his mask having been torn away. He appeared thin and weary, the very image of the ghost she had always heard him to be.

"Oh, Erik. What have they done to you?" she cried.

"Leave me," he answered coldly.

"Erik, please don't turn me away," she pleaded.

"I want nothing more from you," he replied, ignoring her appeals.

"Do you realize what I did to come here? I lied to my own husband! If he knew I was here…" her voice trailed off into a sad whisper.

"Are you afraid what he would do, should he find out?" Erik asked. If that man ever laid a hand on her, Erik would tear him apart slowly.

"No, I'm afraid to hurt to him, especially after all that he's done for me," Christine answered, looking wistfully out of the window. "He severed all ties to his family and friends; he gave up everything that he has ever known just to be with me."

"What do you want from me, Christine?" Erik inquired with disdain.

"I…I don't want anything from you," she answered with puzzled surprise. "I came to help you."

"How could you possibly help me? It is because of you that I am trapped here," he spoke, his anger escalating.

"Because of me? Erik, I don't understand."

"Don't play the fool, Christine. It has never suited you. There is a man in your life who would be most pleased to be rid of me forever," Erik replied, his eyes boring into Christine's. She shifted uncomfortably, averting her eyes from his cold stare.

"You're wrong, Erik. He swore to me that he didn't…" she spoke, her voice stumbling.

"The man is a liar Christine," Erik growled.

"You know nothing of what he is," she replied, her eyes closed in emotional exhaustion.

"He is no more than a spoiled, selfish, insignificant coward," Erik's yells echoed through the cold cell.

"Do not ever speak of him that way," Christine whispered threateningly, finding the courage to look him the eye. "He is a good father, a good husband, and a good man. And if he told me that he was not involved in your capture then that is the truth."

Now it was Erik's turn to look away. Christine's voice softened once more, ashamed of how she had hurt him. "Oh, Erik," she sighed, "I did not come here to fight with you."

"Then why are you here? You warned me to stay away from you, yet here you are."

"I said many things that I did not mean. I was angry with you. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Christine reached a tentative hand out to Erik's face. He grabbed hold of her wrist and threw her arm away. When he spoke again his voice was hoarse and grief-stricken.

"You have done more than hurt me, Christine. You destroyed my heart and soul. You show concern now that they want to destroy the body?"

"Let me help you. You have no idea how I have suffered over this," Christine's brow furrowed in sorrow.

"I have no interest in appeasing your aching conscience. I am not a cause, Christine. I am a human being," he replied, throwing his fists to the ground.

"I do not wish to help you for myself. Despite everything that has happened, I still care for you," her words surprised even herself.

"You will return to see me tomorrow?" he asked hopefully.

"I promise. Please do not give up hope, Erik," Christine bit her bottom lip, hesitating to think on what she was about to do. Finally she leaned down and placed her lips to his forehead.

She called for the guard and waited for him to open the door to the cell. Before she left, she turned one last time to look back on Erik. He almost appeared to be smiling.

_How many times can a heart break before it can no longer repair itself?_ Erik pondered as he watched her leave. This woman had twice left him shattered, yet he was placing his life and his heart once more in her hands. In her eyes, he still saw the hope of what he could be.


	19. Making a Decision

It was late afternoon and Christine had just returned from her most recent visit with Erik. She had gone to see him every day that week, and each time she left the house she found it more difficult to lie to Raoul. Each day she invented a story about walks around the countryside, shopping trips that resulted in no purchases. He trusted her unquestioningly, and she felt guilty for betraying that trust. But it was impossible for her to tell him where she was going; she had already implored his help on Erik's behalf, it was too much to ask that he accept her daily trips to the jail. While she was there, hardly a word was spoken between them, but Erik seemed grateful for her presence. Christine made each visit with a sunny disposition, bringing him food and sweets, and occasionally obliging him with a song. But despite the promises she made to him about securing his freedom, each day that passed stole more of her hope. Now she stood before Raoul in the garden, her temper once again overcoming her.

"There must be something more that you can do," she pleaded.

"Christine, I've done all I can. I have exhausted every option available to me, used every resource at my disposal. If you have another alternative I am eager to hear of it," Raoul answered, becoming frustrated with her berating. He had made every effort to help, in spite of the lack of sympathy he felt for the Phantom. In his heart he felt that Erik deserved the punishment that was forthcoming; he had, after all, murdered Raoul's own brother. But no matter how he felt about Erik, he would do anything for Christine, and it was solely at her request that he was offering his assistance.

"I wish you wouldn't be so condescending," she replied with a pout, throwing herself down on a marble bench.

Raoul's muscles relaxed and his face softened. He could see that Erik's plight was truly taking its toll on Christine. She hardly ate or slept anymore. Most of the time her appearance was unkempt and her eyes distant. The only time he really saw her abandon her melancholy was when she was with Christophe. Somehow his presence chased away the gloom that hung throughout their house. Raoul had called Henriette to take him inside, not wanting him to hear his parents argue. But Raoul hated quarrelling with his wife. He crouched down in front of Christine, lowering himself to meet her eyes.

"Forgive me. I know this has not been easy for you. I have tried my best, but no one can tell me how he was discovered or why they are charging him now. I'm afraid we may have to wait until the trial starts and hope that the prosecution's case is weak. There is nothing more we can do for him now," he said, speaking to her gently as though he were consoling a child.

"You are certain?" she asked, fighting back sobs.

"I'm sorry my love," he shook his head.

Christine nodded resignedly, salty tears running down her cheeks. She sat silently taking in labored breaths. With forced effort she stood to her feet, accepting a handkerchief from Raoul and dabbing at her puffy eyes. She wavered and for a moment Raoul believed she would fall, but she quickly took hold of his arm to steady herself. Her eyes were fixed to the soft ground beneath her as they walked back to the house. She had promised her Angel that she would help and now all she could do was resign him to the gallows. The image of his lifeless body hanging from a noose made her shudder. Everything around her appeared hazy now, muddled by her despair. As she sat rigidly at the dining room table, the voices she heard in kitchen sounded muffled.

"A hot cup of tea, s'il vous plait," Raoul spoke in a low voice to Michelle. "Something to calm her nerves."

He returned to their expansive dining room to find Christine just as he left her, her face still vague and emotionless. Despite the warm light flooding in from the large bay windows, the room felt cold. It was not, Raoul knew, a chill that radiated from the air itself, but from the wintry depression in which Christine now lived. For the first time he was at a loss for words, unsure of how to proceed. If he tried to turn her thoughts from Erik, would she push him away to cling to her familiar sorrow? But if he should leave her be, would she be irrevocably damaged by the ordeal? He had spent many hours thinking on this subject, going back and forth between his theories. He was beginning to go mad with the effort. Finally Michelle entered carrying a silver tea service. She stared curiously at Christine as she placed the tray on the table, filled the cup, and placed it on the saucer in front of Christine. After she finished she stepped back, but didn't leave the room. Raoul looked at her, waiting for her to leave, but she stood in her place and returned his gaze. Finally, he spoke.

"Thank you, Michelle. That will be all," he said, dismissing her from the room.

She gave him a polite nod, her eyes shifting to look at Christine once more, then walked from the room.

"She behaves rather curiously," Christine spoke mechanically, her eyes transfixed on the swirling steam of her tea. "I often see her standing by the doors as though she is listening to the room beyond them. Sometimes I feel her watching me, and I when I catch her eye she quickly returns to work."

"Drink this for me, chéri," Raoul said, ignoring her comment and pushing the cup towards her. "Please darling. I am terribly worried about you. I wish you wouldn't torture yourself this way." He placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her eyes to his. "You've done all you can. You just have to believe that everything will be fine in the end."

She pulled her chair in closer to his and laid her head upon his shoulder. Tentatively Raoul lifted his arm and wrapped it around her. Her expression didn't change, but neither did she pull away. Raoul sat silently with her, watching the sun sink in the sky. He didn't dare break the moment of strange peace that had befallen them.

Hours later Raoul lay asleep in bed, after first sitting by to watch Christine drift into sleep. Now she was awake and standing beside him, her image illuminated by the single candle on the table next to the bed. In her hand was clutched a tear-streaked letter. It had been terribly difficult for her to write. She had even written and torn it up several times, her nerve failing her as her quill met the paper. As she stood there now watching him, she felt her courage once again slipping away. She closed her eyes tightly and forced her hand down to her pillow. She left the letter there as she placed a kissed on Raoul's lips.

"Forgive me," she whispered into the darkness as she blew out her candle and walked away, knowing that if she looked back she would never accomplish what she had set out to do.


	20. Her Sacrifice

A/N: Thanks to Kagome1514 and ahomelesspirate for their help with my French. I don't speak a word and apparently my spell check isn't doing much good. I went back and fixed the last chapter.

The night air was hot and stagnant as Christine made her way once more into the city. This time she was crying uncontrollably, mourning what she was giving up, fearing what lie ahead her. She was no longer a foolish girl who could follow her every whim; she was a wife and mother, a woman who had obligations that must be fulfilled. Yet she was throwing them all to the wind for a man who had caused her so much pain. But, she reminded herself, he had also given her much of the joy in her life. Was she not also obligated to repay him? For the thousandth time she considered abandoning her plan. How easy it would be for her to climb back in her bed, wake up the next morning, and pretend as though none of this had happened. It was too late for that, though. Now she was standing in front of the jail, the tears wiped clean from her face. The night guard was there, a man who would not know her. He had been half-asleep, but he became suddenly alert when Christine approached him, the gun she had taken from Erik's lair in her hand.

"Open the cell," she commanded with a confidence she didn't know she could possess at a moment like this.

"Put the gun down, Mademoiselle," he said defensively, slowly motioning with his hands.

"Do it now," she ordered once more.

The sound of jangling keys and the opening cell door roused Erik from his sleep.

"What is going on?" he asked, his eyes moving from the guard to Christine.

"We're leaving. You don't deserve to be here," Christine answered his question, her gaze still locked on the guard. "Take this," she threw a cloak into the cell.

Erik stood and wrapped it around himself. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Please, be reasonable," the guard pleaded.

"When you are asked, say that you left for a moment because you heard suspicious sounds outside, and when you returned he was gone. You went inside the cell to look around, and the door closed behind you," Christine's voice was beginning to falter as she forced the guard inside the cell. "I'm very sorry to inconvenience you. Take this for your trouble." She threw a purse full of coins to his feet before locking the door.

Erik was at her side speaking in a low voice, "This is foolish. You shouldn't be risking everything for me."

"This way," Christine directed him out of the jail and down the road where two horses awaited them.

"How long have you been preparing for this?" Erik asked in surprise.

"Not long enough. I'm sorry to say that I don't know what we will do after we've mounted the horses. I only knew that I couldn't leave you there any longer," she said sadly, tightening her grip on his arm.

Erik helped her onto her horse, although it wasn't necessary. As they began to leave he noted what a skilled rider she was. No doubt the Vicomte had taught her. For a brief moment Erik had forgotten that his Christine had a husband to return to.

"I suppose this is where we part. Thank you…for everything," Erik spoke as he turned his horse from hers.

"Don't be ridiculous. I promised to help you and intend to keep my word. You wouldn't make a liar of me, would you?" she answered playfully.

"But what of your husband? You must realize that you are risking your marriage by coming with me," he said seriously.

Christine stopped smiling, the tears she had been crying before returning to her eyes. "If Raoul loves me as much as I love him, he will find a way to forgive me."

"And your son? How long can his mother stay away from him?"

"Why are you trying to make this harder for me?" she turned on him angrily.

"I am only making sure you understand the gravity of your actions, Christine," he answered calmly.

"I know what would have happened to you if I hadn't acted, and that frightened me more than anything. Raoul did all he could, but it just wasn't enough," she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"I'm sure he worked fervently for my release," Erik's tone was sarcastic.

"Do not speak that way of what you do not know. He would do anything to keep me from harm, and your imprisonment was torture for me. He wanted to help you, if only for my sake," she replied, the anger in her voice rising once more.

Erik decided not to press the matter, though he still had reservations about the effort the Vicomte had placed into his liberation. He didn't think Raoul the hero Christine believed him to be.

"Is there anywhere you can think to go, somewhere that you'll be safe?" Christine's voice broke into his seething thoughts.

"The only place I have ever felt truly safe was the Opera Populaire, but I suspect that is out of the question," Erik answered.

"We can find an inn to stay in temporarily, but I wish to get farther from the city before we stop," she tried to conceal the pity in her voice.

Christine suddenly noticed that Erik was no longer riding beside her. She turned to look back; his horse had stopped in the middle of the road. Erik's whole body seemed to have gone stiff.

She approached him cautiously, "What is it?"

"Gypsies," he answered, his voice on the verge of breaking.

Christine noticed the torches which stood to the left of them. Signs for different attractions surrounded a man who beckoned all passersby inside.

"That's all in the past. Let's ride on," she said gently, pulling at his arm.

They passed city after city, but Christine's caution kept pushing them forward. "Not here, it doesn't feel safe." Finally exhaustion forced them into submission and they found a quiet inn, a small brick building that they practically had to themselves. They paid for their room and went straight to bed, Erik with a pillow and blanket on the floor. "I have experienced worse accommodations," he said as he refused Christine's offer to have the bed. As the dim light of the candle began to flicker out, Erik questioned her.

"Why did you come for me?"

"I consider you a dear friend. I couldn't leave you there to die," she replied, surprised by his question.

"I am merely your friend?"

"Please, Erik, don't do this. We mustn't talk this way. I'm married now," she tried to appear calm, but the tremble in her voice did not go unnoticed.

"Yet you are here with me while your husband's bed remains empty," his voice was almost whimsical as he spoke.

"You needed me more," she answered simply.

"I needed you more then as well. I shall always need you, Christine," he said sincerely.

"I love him," she spoke softly, and it seemed to Erik that she was speaking more to herself than to him.

"I believe that you did once. But as you lie here with me, does you heart long to be there with him? Perhaps you are holding to a love that has faded away, afraid to let in a kind of love you have never known."

Erik turned on his side and fell asleep, leaving Christine to ponder what he had said.


	21. How Much More

Raoul sat in painful shock, reading once more the letter he held in his hand. When he had awoken and found it beside him, he had imagined that Christine had left him some sort of love letter. He hadn't fully understood what he was reading the first time through, but now it was excruciatingly clear. She had left him. She had left him for that…monster. In her letter she had begged his forgiveness and understanding for what she must do. Though he wanted to forgive her, the pain in his heart prevented him from doing so. How could she have done this to their family? His eyes fell upon her shaken handwriting.

_I need you to know that I love you and Christophe more than anything else in this world. The last thing that I ever wanted was to leave you, but I can't be the wife and mother that you deserve until I have resolved this matter. _

The wife and mother they deserved? Raoul was filled with incredulity. He had never asked her to be more than she had been. Had she expected more of him? Had he failed her somehow? In one letter all his old wounds had been reopened, all his fears of losing Christine, his self-doubt. He felt like the foolhardy young man battling an invisible ghost once again. Only this time, the ghost was winning.

Raoul slumped into his chair, wanting to vanish into it. The pain pulsed through him, consuming every part of him. He had to do something, anything to soothe the ache in his heart. He ran down the stairs, eager to seek solace in his son. As he leapt off the bottom stair he practically ran into Henriette.

"Monsieur," she said in a startled voice, "Inspector Reinard is here to see you. He is waiting in the foyer."

"Where is Christophe?" he asked impatiently.

"I believe Michelle is with him in his room. Should I have her bring him down to the dining room for breakfast?"

Raoul nodded, a slight frown still hanging on his face. Reinard stood, as Henriette had said, in the foyer. His back was to Raoul as he admired a painting of a country landscape that hung on the wall. Raoul stood in the doorway and cleared his throat. Reinard turned, a forced smile on his lips, and extended his hand to Raoul. He looked down to Reinard's hands and back up to his eyes, unwilling to offer his own hand.

"I expected as much," Reinard said, his demeanor now serious. "I don't know if you are aware, but there was an escape from the jail last night, a murder suspect apprehended from the Opera Populaire."

"You're right. I wasn't aware," Raoul replied stiffly.

Reinard spoke quickly, trying to cover the anger in his voice. "Raoul this is serious. I haven't forgotten what you said when Christine disappeared, nor the rumors that surrounded your time at the Opera Populaire. I'd like to speak with your wife."

"I'm afraid she is unavailable at the moment. She is visiting an ill friend in Bourges. I am unsure when she will return."

Reinard leaned in and spoke in a low voice. "I know you don't want to see this murderer roaming the streets. If your wife was involved in any way, I can help protect her. But we will need her cooperation."

"I assure you my wife was not involved. I'm sorry there is nothing more we can do to help your investigation," Raoul said curtly.

"Very well," Reinard retorted. "My offer still stands if you change your mind."

Raoul stood firmly in place when Reinard left. He moved only when he heard Christophe laugh from within the dining room. A sad smile crossed Raoul's face as his son ran towards him. He scooped the boy up into his arms and hugged him tightly. _How could she abandon him, an innocent child who needs her?_ Raoul had never been so angry with Christine in all the time he had known her.

Raoul spent the entire day with Christophe, avoiding returning to his room and the letter that threw him into anguish. Every so often he pulled Christophe close to him just to feel the child in his arms. Christophe had become the only consistent joy in his life, and he was devoted to treasuring every moment.

The hours passed and, despite Raoul's unwillingness to relinquish him, Christophe drifted off to sleep. Raoul was finally forced to retire to his own room. He turned down the bed and changed his clothes. As he shuffled around the room, he moved Christine's letter from the nightstand to the desk, where he was sure he had left it earlier. That night he lay awake going over their last moments together. She must have known then what she was going to do. And he suspected nothing. He had been a fool for her since the day they had met, and he was beginning to despise them both for that.

When morning came he was still awake thinking of her. He felt as if there were two people residing inside him. One of them was so angry at Christine that he wanted to scream. The other longed for nothing more than her return. But one thing that they both shared was the pain. He was suffocating from it. He felt as though he were trapped under a lake of ice, frozen and unable to move.

Raoul glanced over to the open window when he heard a carriage approaching. His heart leapt at the thought that it could be Christine. He hurried down the stairs to the entranceway, but the woman that stood there was not his wife. She was tall and slender, her hair a sleek golden blonde. She was beautiful, but not in the unique, striking way that Raoul had always thought Christine was.

Michelle stepped forward to introduce the woman. "Monsieur, this is…"

"Oh don't be silly," the woman interrupted. "Surely he must remember me." She batted her eyes at Raoul.

Raoul tried to match a name with the face in front of him, but the blank look on his face revealed that he couldn't quite place her.

"I can't believe you've forgotten me," the woman said, her bottom lip pushed forward in a pout. "After all the fun we had when we were younger. But I suppose it has been a while."

"I'm very sorry, but I still can't discern who you are," Raoul said apologetically.

"Nicole, Duchess of Anjou," she said with a grand gesture of her hand. "We spent the summer together when we were 16. Your brother brought you to my family's country home. We spent practically every day together out on the horses. Just the two of us." She reached out and grabbed Raoul's hand, gently stroking it with her fingertips. "Remember?"

Raoul pulled back slightly and clasped his hands together. "Nicole, of course. I remember now. You've changed," his voice was slightly nervous.

"Yes, I suppose I grew into my looks," she said haughtily, a large grin on her face.

"What brings you to our home?" he fought not to stammer.

"Well I was in Paris, bored out of my mind, and I thought to myself 'Why don't I pop in on dear Raoul. We always had so much fun.' And here I am. Oh, Raoul, we have so much catching up to do. But first I simply must meet this wife of yours." She sounded fake, like all the girls who wished to be courted by him in his youth.

"Christine is out of town at the moment, visiting a sick friend," he hoped she didn't hear the disappointment in his voice.

Nicole's eyebrows rose up. "Really? I'm sorry to hear that." She paused to saunter around the room, looking it over. "Well I really must be on my way, but would it be an inconvenience if I returned tomorrow afternoon?"

"Um, no. Not at all," Raoul replied.

"Well then, until tomorrow." She leaned in and placed a kiss on Raoul's cheek. She glanced at him once more over her shoulder before leaving the house.

"Don't trust her Monsieur," Michelle whispered cryptically.

"What do you mean?" Raoul asked. She didn't answer, but she cast her eyes down and walked from the room.


	22. Turning Back

When Erik woke the next morning, he was anxious to begin their journey. He thought that perhaps the longer Christine was away from her home, the harder it would be for her to return. He was surprised to find that Christine too was awake, but she had appeared to rise even earlier than he. Everything in the room was already tidied up and she was pulling on her riding gloves.

"Good, you're awake. We should be leaving soon," she said, flexing her fingers within the gloves.

Erik had little to do to prepare for their ride. He made sure his mask was fit in place, straightened out his clothes, and grabbed Christine's pistol. They were silent as they mounted their horses, and remained that way for quite some time. The tension hung heavily between them, causing Christine to shift nervously in her saddle every so often. Erik was not bothered by the fact that he had caused the tension. Quite the contrary, he was rather pleased that his words could cause such uneasiness in Christine. He believed that the seed of doubt he planted within her was flourishing, that she was unable to face him for fear of what she felt. It would be difficult for her to leave her family, he knew this. But she would have no need of Raoul with him as her husband, and he would not deny her the chance to be with her son. Christine glanced over at Erik at saw the victorious smile on his lips. She knew that she had to speak immediately. She cleared her throat.

"Erik, about what you said last night…" she paused, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He said nothing, didn't even glimpse at her, but she continued on. "I felt…rather uncomfortable. I wish you wouldn't speak to me that way anymore. It's simply not appropriate." She looked straight ahead of her as she finished.

"Whatever you wish, my dear," he replied smugly. "We wouldn't want the wife of Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny to discuss her feelings."

"That's not what I mean, I…" she was a bit confounded, unsure of how to reply. She closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then turned to Erik. "Sometimes I feel as though you're trying to confuse me or… I don't know what I'm trying to say. Whenever you speak of my marriage to him, it's always disparaging. I love my husband more than anything, but when I'm with you he gets…lost. And I can't help but feel that you are doing it on purpose."

"Did you ever think that perhaps your confusion springs from within yourself? Perhaps the doubts that you ignore simply cannot be hidden when you are with me."

"You're doing it again! You want me to doubt what I feel for Raoul!" she yelled angrily.

"No, Christine. I want you to look carefully at your life and decide if it is what you truly want. If he fulfills your heart's desire than so be it. I only want you to be sure," he said coolly.

Christine calmed down immediately. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to accuse you. My emotions have been erratic lately. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Erik looked at her now. She had gone pale and was wavering in her saddle. "Christine, are you feeling alright?"

She suddenly pulled back hard on the reins and leapt from her horse. She dashed behind a nearby building, Erik on her heels. He turned the corner and found Christine hunched over and leaning against the wall. She was retching violently. Erik rushed forward and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Christine, what's wrong?" he asked with concern.

She coughed a few dry coughs and placed her hand over her mouth. After a moment, she was composed enough to speak. "Erik, I need to go home."

"Why? Tell me what the matter is," he was still worried. He had never had much dealing with illness and he was unsure what he could do to help.

She kept her back to him, but he could sense the smile that crossed her face as she spoke. "I'm…I'm pregnant."

Erik's face hardened as he tried to keep his breathing under control. The monster that he had been keeping at bay was howling to be released. Everything that had he dreamt, all that he had imagined was finally coming to fruition. Once again happiness had been in his grasp, only to be torn away by that insufferable Vicomte. With the child that was growing inside Christine, Erik felt that Raoul was mocking him, flaunting what he could never have.

"I shouldn't be out on a horse. We need to find a carriage, something, and soon." Despite her unease about getting home, Christine's voice remained wistful.

"Very well. I will inquire about town. You should find a place to rest," Erik said, his voice lacking emotion.

She turned to him and looked sadly in his eyes. "Erik, I…"

"There is no need for explanations, Christine. I'm sure your husband will be overjoyed," he interrupted her.

She reached out and squeezed his hand before turning back to find a place to sit. As she waited for Erik to return, her mind wandered. She was thrilled to be having a baby, but would Raoul accept her again? She knew the baby was his; he was the only man she had ever allowed to possess her body, but would he believe that? She bit her nails as her fears began to escalate. She imagined returning home, seeing the anger and the pain in Raoul's eyes. In her mind, she saw him turning her away, keeping her from their son. She knew that was foolish. Raoul was far too kind and too much of a gentleman to separate a mother and child. But that didn't mean he had to accept her as his wife. When Erik finally returned she was on the verge of tears.

"My dear, why are you crying?" he asked as he sat beside her.

"I should never have left him. I was so foolish, I didn't think this through. I could lose everything that matters most to me and I'm so scared. Oh Erik, what am I going to do?" she said frantically.

He swallowed hard, preparing himself to speak the words Christine needed to hear, words that he didn't wish to speak. "Everything will be fine. He loves you and he will love this child. Now dry your eyes. Your carriage waits to take you home to your husband."


	23. A Proposition

A/N: Sorry to Lover of Roses Red for keeping you waiting so long! Lol. It's a busy time, getting ready to move back in to school and all that good stuff. But here's the update!

An ornately elegant, almost ostentatious carriage slowed to a stop in front of the de Chagny estate. The driver opened the door and a gloved hand reached for his. Nicole's delicate feet glided across the ground as she made her way to the large double doors. She tapped her foot impatiently as her servant stepped down from the carriage and rushed forward to announce her.

Henriette answered the door, her contempt for the woman who stood there not well masked. "I will make your presence known to Master Raoul," she said, leaving the door open behind her.

Raoul stood at the top of the stairs, hidden behind a column that stood atop the banister. He gently hit his head against the wood. Nicole had always been forward, within the bounds of social acceptance. But it seemed that this habit had escalated with her age and Raoul was tiring of it. He stood up straight and descended the stairs, determined to be a gracious host, nothing more.

"Nicole, a pleasure as always," he said, taking her hand and placing a light kiss on her knuckles.

She giggled flirtatiously as her fingers slipped from his. "You always were so charming." She glanced sideways at her servant who stood meekly in the entranceway. "You can wait in the carriage, Brigitte," she said coldly.

"I can have Henriette bring out some tea if you would care to join me in the kitchen," Raoul said as Nicole turned to face him, once again smiling.

"Actually I was hoping that we could go out on the horses, have a little chat while we ride," she stepped forward towards Raoul.

"Of course. If you follow me out to the stables, I can have Emile prepare a horse for you."

"The stables? Surely you must be joking Raoul!" she laughed.

Raoul was somewhat surprised by her reaction. He was unaccustomed to a woman who wished to be pampered. Christine never hesitated to follow Raoul into the stables. He had always loved that she was unconcerned with pretenses.

"I can bring your horse around if you wish to wait in the garden," he suggested.

"That would be simply lovely," she replied, her breath hot on his neck.

Once she was out of sight, Raoul threw up his hands in exasperation. How long would he have to suffer this woman's presence? He stormed off to the stables, dispelling some of his anger into every step. He had Emile prepare his black mare as well as a light honey colored horse for Nicole. He mounted his horse, holding the reins of the other as he rode to the garden. He couldn't suppress a laugh as he saw Nicole shrinking away from Christophe's reach. Raoul leapt from the horse and held his arms out for his son.

"Nicole," he said as he lifted the boy in the air, "This is our son, Christophe."

Henriette strode toward them from the terrace. "I'm very sorry, Monsieur. He just got away from me," she apologized, though not convincingly. Nicole shot her an angry glare.

"No need for apologies Henriette," Raoul chuckled softly, kissing Christophe's forehead before handing him into her arms.

"He is…adorable," Nicole stammered, regaining her composure.

"Thank you. He is the joy of our life," he replied weakly.

"Oh yes, your wife. You must tell me all about her," Nicole said as she stepped beside her horse. She looked towards Raoul and cleared her throat. Raoul looked back at her with bewilderment. She nodded toward her horse and he understood; she wanted him to help her mount it. She placed a foot in the stirrup as Raoul's hands clasped around her waist and lifted her up. She carefully adjusted her dress before taking hold of the reins. In one liquid movement, Raoul was atop his horse and prepared to ride.

"Have you heard from Christine recently?" Nicole asked as their horses trotted out to the grounds some distance from the manor.

"I received a letter a few days ago. I'm sorry to report that her friend is not recovering as well as hoped. She is still unsure of when she will be able to return," he lied. "But we needn't speak of that right now. How have you been? You are married, I trust."

"Sadly, no," she said reflectively. "I haven't been able to find a man to spend my life with. There have been many suitors, that is certain. But none of them ever seemed to be the right man."

"No need to worry. I'm sure the man for you is out there somewhere." He smiled politely.

"Maybe closer than I think," she said suggestively.

Raoul quickened his horse's pace, eager to bring their ride to an end. Nicole's words were beginning to make him uncomfortable. The only woman he had ever truly felt at ease with was Christine. Not to say that he couldn't be quite charming when occasion called for it, but his heart was never in it. He was a naïve boy who knew nothing of love and desire until Christine had appeared before him at the Opera Populaire. Even if he was forced to carry on without her, another woman could never claim her place.

Nicole carried on with the conversation, relating the tiresome details of her life since she and Raoul had last seen each other. She spoke of the many suitors who had pursued her, her travels abroad, and parties hosted by people that he cared nothing for. Raoul spoke hardly a word for it seemed that Nicole enjoyed talking. He nodded his head and spoke a word of approval every so often. When she had finished recounting her own story, she once again set about drawing information from Raoul. It seemed to him like an interrogation more than a conversation. Most of her questions involved his marriage and his wife in one way or another. _How long had they been together? What sort of hobbies did they enjoy? How did he feel about being shunned from society for her sake?_

The ride graciously ended before he was forced to answer, for Raoul was unsure whether he could continue to be polite while she asked such questions. The horses' hooves clomped on the cobblestone pathway that led up to the garden. Nicole pulled back on the reins and waited for Raoul to help her dismount. From her side-saddle position, she looked to Raoul like a snake poised to strike. She placed her hands on his shoulders as he lowered her to the ground. When her feet fell upon the dirt beneath her, she slid her hands up and lightly rubbed the nape of his neck.

He ran his hands up her arms and removed her grip. He was frowning slightly, his tone serious but gentle. "Nicole…"

She let out a sigh and smiled as her arms fell to her sides. "I've never been skilled with subtlety. I have always fancied you, Raoul. Perhaps that is the reason that I never married; no other man could measure up to you. And the fact that you're married…well to be honest, it makes you even more alluring. You know I was always up for a challenge."

Raoul was somewhat taken aback. "Nicole, I am flattered, but-"

She silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Just consider what I have said. I will return tomorrow evening for your answer."


	24. Nicole

A/N: WARNING! There is a rape scene involving a minor in this chapter. This is probably going to be the most graphic chapter in the story, so if this bothers you, please skip it. You won't really lose out on the story, just a little background info.

Nicole strode confidently to her carriage, overwhelmed with pride. She was certain that Raoul would soon be hers. That dreary wife of his could hardly be deemed competition. From within the carriage she ordered the driver to take her to the home she was using in the city. When she arrived she found it empty, a state that she was accustomed to. From a very young age she was generally ignored by her parents. Gifts and indulgence served as a replacement for their love and presence. She quickly became spoiled, expecting the world fall to its knees at her command. Friends and governesses moved quickly in and out of her life. She had learned to become attached to no one. She had felt no twinge of loss when both her parents had been killed in accident when she was 15. She had, however, played the part of the mourning daughter, absorbing the sympathy and kindness provided her.

"Brigitte, prepare a warm bath. Use the lavender oil," she commanded as the butler stepped forward to remove her cloak and take her gloves. Brigitte curtsied timidly and scurried off to prepare the water.

"Tea, Mademoiselle?" the butler asked.

"I will take it in the library," she answered as she pulled the pins from her hair, allowing her long tresses to flow freely across her back.

She sat in the largest armchair in the room as the tea service was placed on the cherry oak table beside her. She waited until the butler had bowed and walked from the room before moving determinedly towards the book shelves. She selected a leather-bound book, barely distinguishable from the ones that surrounded it. She opened it and removed the bottle of brandy hidden inside. She drank her tea until the cup was half empty. She then filled it with the amber liquid from the bottle. She drained it quickly, feeling it burn as it traveled down her throat. She drank several cups in this manner, the tea within the pot almost gone. The familiar numbness swept over her again, putting her at ease. She replaced the bottle and the book back on the shelf when Brigitte knocked at the door.

After Brigitte removed her dress and undergarments, Nicole slipped into the hot water, the soothing aroma of the oil filling her nostrils. After she had been washed, she dismissed Brigitte and slid lower into the water. She moved her hands along the smooth skin of her arms, imagining that it was Raoul's touch that caressed her. He had been, she reflected, the only man who was genuinely kind to her with no self-serving motivations. Any other man bold enough to spend time with her desired either her money or her title, but Raoul was content with her friendship. Perhaps it was his disinterest in courting her that had first drawn her to him. He was handsome, of course, and wealthy, but there were dozens of other men just like him falling over themselves for her. As she said, she always enjoyed a challenge.

The water began to cool, so Nicole stood from the tub. The water dripped to the floor as she walked to the door where her robe was waiting for her. She sat in front of her vanity mirror as Brigitte brushed out her hair.

"Now leave me," Nicole said as she finished. She wrapped her white chiffon robe tightly around her and sauntered over to the large window that overlooked a stunning cathedral. She appreciated the beauty of the stained glass and the spiraled steeples, but her admiration of it went no deeper. She had been raised in the traditions of the Roman Catholic Church, but she could recall with excruciating detail the exact day she had lost her faith in an all-powerful, loving God.

She had recently turned 13 and was permitted to attend a party held by her parents, if only for a few brief minutes. Although she would only be present for a short time, she spent hours preparing for her appearance. Madame Follet, her most recent governess, had taken her into town to buy a new dress just for the occasion. The pale pink complemented her fair complexion and light hair. Her curls were pulled up with jeweled pins and she was even permitted to wear a small amount of perfume. She looked as a woman beyond her years. Her mother paraded her around the room, referring to Nicole as her "little porcelain doll." Once she had been introduced and shown off, her mother had no further need of her and she was sent up to her room for the evening. She refused to take off her dress, causing Madame Follet to storm from the room in exasperation. Nicole lifted a doll from her bed and danced with it to the music that floated up the steps to her ears.

She jumped when her door opened and a middle-aged man stumbled in. _Excuse me, Monsieur_, she said politely, _but I believe you have lost your way._ He staggered towards her, a drunken smile plastered to his face. _You are very pretty, Mademoiselle_, he slurred. His breath reeked of liquor, making Nicole's nose crinkle in disgust. She tried to step away from him, but he grabbed hold of her arm. _No need to leave yet, my beauty. We were just becoming friends._ He caressed her cheek. She turned her head and bit him hard on the hand. He cursed loudly and slapped her across the face before throwing her on the bed. She kicked and screamed as he took off his pants, but her cries were drowned out by the music and chatter downstairs. He removed her dress, careful not to rip it. She made one last plea before he plunged painfully into her. He ignored her tears, absorbed in his own pleasure. She lay silently, praying for God to end her torture. Finally, he released and lifted himself from her. He said nothing as he replaced his clothes and walked from her room to return to the party. She curled up in her bed and pulled her blanket tightly to her.

She was waiting the next morning when her parents descended the stairs for breakfast. When they were alone, she told them what had happened. Her mother said nothing as her father berated her, calling her a liar. She motioned to the bruise across her cheek, but her father explained it away as the probable result of a fall. No man of breeding would need to find pleasure in a 13 year-old girl, he had told her. She was to go to the priest immediately and make penance for her lie. God would not accept a liar into heaven. She ran from their house in a rage, not returning until the sun was gone from the sky. Her mother sat by the fire in the salon as Nicole timidly approached her. _Your father has spoken and his word is final. We will hear nothing more of this story._

Nicole brought a hand to her mouth, the memory cutting through her. She opened a drawer in her armoire and removed the decanter within. She took a deep swig, panting as she set it down. She pulled back the blankets on her bed and lay her head against the soft pillow. What did it matter anymore? She always got what she wanted in the end. And soon she would have Raoul. When he was old enough, Nicole could send Christophe away to school. Or better still, he could go to live with his mother. Nicole would have Raoul completely to herself. She smiled at her plans, anxious for the night to end and tomorrow evening to come.


	25. Coming Home

A/N: Just got back from seeing the stage show and it was AWESOME! We liked it so much we went back and bought tickets for the next day. It was like an 8-hour drive to get there, but it was totally worth it. Sorry- just had to share my excitement!

_Is it possible to put back together a life that you shattered with your own hands?_ Although Erik's comforting words had soothed her, this question still plagued Christine's mind. She sat rigidly in the back of the carriage contemplating all the mistakes she had made. She realized now that it was not only her own life that she had destroyed, but also those of the people close to her- Erik, Raoul, even their son. She was a sickness that infected them, slowly draining away all that made them whole. But could she also be the cure? She wasn't sure if she could put right all that she had torn apart, but no other option was left to her but to try.

Erik could sense the sadness that still weighed upon Christine. He would give anything to be able to lift her from her gloom, but he was not the one she needed. No, the only man who could console her was her precious Vicomte. If he did anything to hurt her upon their return, Erik swore to kill him then and there. But Erik knew that he need not worry about that. Despite the resentment and loathing he felt toward Raoul, he knew that the man would never turn Christine away.

"Christine, there is some bread and cheese in the basket beside you. I think it best that you eat," Erik called from his seat in front of the carriage where he was guiding the horses.

Christine opened the basket and began to take small bites of a piece of bread, chewing slowly. If not for the child inside her, she would have no stomach for food. She gazed distractedly out the window, uninterested in the sights that past her. She only began to take notice when the familiar streets of Paris appeared before her. She wrung her hands nervously. Erik too had become aware of their location. His heart ached as he knew he would soon be forced to watch Christine run once more into the arms of another man. The time passed quickly, more quickly than Erik had expected, and Christine's gentle voice guided him to the de Chagny estate.

"I will need some time to speak with Raoul. If…" she paused, trying to steady her voice, "If he is willing to take me back, I will give you a signal. You can take the carriage around the back. On the right you will see a path that is slightly overgrown. It will lead you to the old stables. You can wait there for a time."

Erik nodded in understanding, unable to speak. He pulled the hood of his cloak up around his head, obscuring his face from anyone who might glance his way. With a trembling hand, Christine reached for the door. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon Raoul's form, blurred by the glass of the window. He was pulling open the heavy, emerald green drapes to let the light of the afternoon sun in. Christine saw him pause as he too looked through the window. He moved quickly to the door, throwing it open as he ran out. He stopped a few feet short of her.

Christine took a deep, painful breath. "Raoul, I'm so sorry. I-"

Before she could finish, Raoul had reached out and pulled her into his arms, his body shuddering against hers. She buried her face into his shirt, her nails digging into his back as she clung to him. She couldn't see Erik turn his head away as he pulled the carriage around the manor and out of view.

Raoul suddenly pulled away from her, holding her at arms length. He raised his hands up to move the hair from her face and sighed painfully at the tears in her eyes. He cupped her face in his hands and pulled his face close into hers. "I love you, Christine. You are my wife and I shall always cherish you. But your actions hurt me deeply," he said dejectedly. Her tears began to run anew at his words. She had known that it would be hard to hear the pain in his voice, but it was worse than she had expected; it was practically unbearable. He took hold of her hands, entwining their fingers as he led her to the door. "Come inside. There is much that must be said."

"Yes, a very great much," she replied smiling, thinking of the child growing within her.

Raoul became confused as Christine stopped abruptly, her face crestfallen and her eyes on the door. He looked over his shoulder and saw Nicole standing in the doorway. Christine turned her attention once more to him, anger and disbelief mingled on her face. She knew she had no right to feel that way. After all, it was she who had left. But she had always believed that Raoul would be faithful to her.

"It is not what you think," Raoul whispered quickly, trying to dispel her fears.

Christine turned and straightened herself as the woman stepped forward. She wore a polite smile, but Christine could swear that there was hatred burning in her eyes.

"Christine, this is Nicole, Duchess of Anjou. We were friends in our youth," he gestured to Nicole, who leaned in and kissed Christine's cheek. "Nicole, my wife- Christine, Vicomtesse de Chagny." He took hold of her hand protectively.

"I do hope that your return is due to the improvement of your friend," Nicole said, looking Christine over as a lion evaluating its prey.

Christine glanced at Raoul for assistance and spoke unsurely, "Yes, of course. Thank you for your concern."

"As you can see Nicole, my _wife_ and I are anxious to spend some time together, so if you wouldn't mind…"

"Not another word, Raoul. I understand completely."

Raoul took Christine's arm and turned to lead them inside, when he heard Nicole continue. "You two take some time to become reacquainted, and I shall return for a late supper. Adieu until later." She turned on her heel and stepped carefully into her carriage.

"Who was she?" Christine asked angrily, gesturing to the carriage that was disappearing down the dirt road.

"What I told you was true. She and I were, well I suppose you could say we were friends. She…has made her interest in me known."

Christine opened her mouth to speak, but Raoul interrupted her before she could begin. "She came here this afternoon to discover how I feel about her. I told her how devoted I am to you. She knows that you are the only woman I could ever love; she has accepted that. You needn't worry about her."

Christine smiled softly and Raoul wrapped his arm about her waist. She breathed in deeply the familiar scent of her home as Raoul removed the cloak from her shoulders. She closed her hands around Raoul's as she sat them both on the settee. She felt as though she would burst from the excitement within her.

"Raoul, there is something important that I must tell you." He looked at her and wondered what she could say that gave cause to such joy. "Mon amour, you are going to be a father again!"

For a moment he sat and let her words echo in his ears. _A father again. She was going to have another baby._ He pulled Christine to her feet and joyously swung her about as he had done that night on the roof, the night he had proposed to her. When they both began to feel dizzy, he stopped and regained control of himself, though he was still smiling blissfully.

"I'm so sorry, chéri. I suppose I shouldn't do that, at least not for some time," he lowered her back down to her seat.

She was still giggling as she spoke. "Then I am to assume that you are happy?"

"Man has not invented a word to describe how happy I am at this moment, my dearest Little Lotte."

Little Lotte. He had not called her that in so long. Perhaps there was a chance that they could be how they once were. Christine feared that she would destroy that chance with what she would say next. But she knew that it couldn't wait to be said. Her voice became serious, her head dropped in shame.

"There is something else that I must tell you. Truthfully it is more of a request."

"Go on," he said soothingly.

Her breath came in short, nervous gasps. His tenderness was making it even worse for her. "It's Erik. He has nowhere else to go. Could you consider… letting him stay here?"


	26. Devastation

Raoul was sure that he must have been mistaken. She couldn't seriously be asking him to take in the man who had almost destroyed their lives, the man who had killed his brother and had tried to kill him, the man who was violently obsessed with her. No, she couldn't possibly.

Christine kept her eyes down, unable to look at Raoul. "He has nowhere else to go," she repeated.

She could tell from his breathing that he was fighting hard not to scream. "This can not be happening," he said with difficulty.

"Raoul believe me, I wish I could spare you any further pain, but I swore that I would help him," she said softly.

"And what of the promise you made to me when we were married? We promised to love and cherish each other above all others. Did that mean nothing to you?" He was standing now, looking down at the wife he hardly recognized anymore.

"Of course not! Please don't speak that way, don't even think it," Christine looked up at him, her heart breaking.

"Do you realize the police already suspect your involvement in his escape?" he was practically shouting.

"What?" _How could they have known?_

"I lied for you, to protect you. I can only imagine what would happen to you if he was discovered here." Raoul turned his back to her and spoke quietly. "And the very thought of it is killing me." He sighed in exasperation. "Christine, you know I would do anything for you, but I truly believe that you are making the wrong decision."

"I know you think me a foolish girl," she began.

"I don't think-"

"But I know what I am doing and it is the right thing to do. He let us go- we owe him this," she stood and turned Raoul to face her.

"I will not have that monster living under the same roof as my wife and son. I won't stand for it, Christine," he said decisively.

"He is with the carriage in the old stables. I'm sure he will be content to stay there with some food and a blanket-"

"HE IS ALREADY HERE?" Raoul thundered.

Christine heard Henriette's voice outside the door. "I believe that the master and his wife wish to remain undisturbed."

"Oh nonsense. They are expecting me," Nicole called back.

_So that horrible woman has returned._ Christine dreaded having to see her again. She felt very ill at ease when Nicole was around, despite Raoul's assurance that there was nothing to worry over.

"We will finish this later," Raoul said, his voice cold.

"Where is my son?" Christine asked, drying the tears from her eyes.

"He is upstairs, sleeping. I will have Henriette bring him down to you."

The next moment, Nicole had pushed past Henriette into the room. She noticed Christine turn away, still wiping at her eyes. Raoul stood in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips. "I hope I have not interrupted something of importance," she said, feigning concern.

"Not at all. Christine tends to be very emotional when she returns home from a long trip." Raoul placed a hand on the small of Christine's back. "Chéri, you will join us in the dining room?"

"I will be in shortly," she sniffed.

The puffiness of her eyes hand begun to vanish when Henriette returned to the room, Christophe in her arms. The child wriggled until he was placed on the floor. He ran quickly over to his mother who pulled him up into her lap.

"Oh Henriette, I can't believe he is almost two already. Where does the time go?" she said wistfully.

Henriette slowly lowered herself to the seat beside Christine. "He has shown no interest in her."

"I beg your pardon?" Christine replied.

"He has been so depressed since you left. He tried to hide it from us, but I could see how much he missed you," Henriette said consolingly. "And if I am not being too forward, I must say that I am relieved that you have returned. I can't stand that woman!"

Christine giggled, squeezing Henriette's hand. "Thank you, Henriette. I truly needed to hear that."

Henriette smiled comfortingly, then stood to go serve the meal. Christine sat for a moment with her son, smoothing back his hair and humming softly into his ear.

"Mama is home now, dearest. Everything is going to be alright," she whispered soothingly.

Raoul watched his wife and son from outside the door. He had to do something. He was not going to lose her again. But what she asked of him…it was too much. He ran his hands through his hair, his head aching. With great effort, he pushed the worries from his mind. Christine was right- everything was going to be fine. She had returned to him, carrying another child. He was not going to let Erik bring his spirits down, not when he had so much to be thankful for. And perhaps she was right about Erik as well. He had let them go; there must have been some humanity in him. What harm would it do him if Erik stayed in the old stables? It wasn't as though they would have to face each other.

Raoul bounded up the staircase, happily leaping over every other step. He went into their room and fetched the present he had been saving for her return. A violin, almost identical to the one her father used to play. While he was by no means a prodigy, Raoul had taken several lessons from Gustave Daae and was in fact quite good. He ran his hands along the polished wood. He could play for her while she sang. He thought for a moment and placed the violin back into its case. He would save the surprise until after Nicole had left.

Raoul turned from the room and was almost to the stairs, when a hand grabbed his arm and turned him about. Nicole stood before him, a seductive smile on her face.

"We were interrupted this afternoon, before we could finish our conversation," she said, her finger trailing down Raoul's chest.

He grabbed her hand and placed it back at her side. "There is nothing more to be said, Nicole. You know that I love my wife. I could never betray her."

"I am not a simpleton, Raoul. I know you were in the middle of a fight when I arrived," she said, laughter dancing in her throat.

"Yes, we were fighting. But that changes nothing. I will never feel for you what I feel for her. Now I beg you, leave us be," he said sternly.

Raoul waited for her to respond, to acknowledge the finality of their situation. She smiled wickedly as she glanced over his shoulder at something behind him, but as he turned to look she pulled him into a passionate kiss. Raoul whirled around when he heard a sickening thud and rushed to the bottom of the stairs, where Christine lay crumpled and unconscious.


	27. Becoming Clearer

"Oh God! Someone get some help!" Raoul cried out from Christine's side. "Christine? Please chéri, open your eyes," he pleaded, his tears falling upon her dress. He placed one arm under her neck and the other around her waist as he gingerly lifted her up. He buried his face into her neck, muffling his sobs.

"Here, Monsieur. Bring her into the guest bedroom," Henriette tugged at his arm, leading him to a small room at the end of the hallway. "Campbell has taken a horse into town to fetch a doctor."

Raoul slowly lowered her upon the bed, reluctant to let her go. The man who entered behind him made no noise as he stepped into the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Raoul saw the black fabric of a cape blowing with the wind from the open window. He turned and found himself inches from the Phantom.

"What are you doing here?" Raoul asked, the anger in his voice overshadowing his sobs.

"I heard you shouting. How is Christine?" Erik asked, fear surmounting his anger toward Raoul.

"You heard me all the way from the stables?" Raoul asked suspiciously. Then it dawned upon him. "You were spying on us!"

"Do not flatter yourself, Monsieur," he spat, "Your life is of no interest to me. My only intent was to make sure that Christine was alright, which is obviously not the case."

"We don't need you," Raoul said, stepping back protectively to Christine's side.

"Monsieurs," Henriette scolded, stepping between them, "Now is not the time to be bickering."

Raoul relented grudgingly. "She's right. Christine is all that matters now."

"Monsieur! I have brought the doctor!" Campbell yelled, running down the hall.

The doctor was fairly young, with a thin face that was overpowered by his large mustache. He pushed past Raoul and Erik to Christine's bed, tossing down a heavy leather bag.

"I need some space. Young lady, you can assist me. Everyone else must go," he commanded.

Both men unwillingly stepped from the room. Michelle stood outside, placing a chair beside the door. "Would your guest like a chair as well, Monsieur?"

Raoul opened his mouth to speak, but the words came from Erik's first. "I would be most grateful."

Michelle looked to Raoul, who nodded his approval. The two men each took their seat on opposite sides of the door. A tense silence hung between them as they strained to hear what was going on inside the room. But it was useless. There was only the occasional sound of shuffling feet and an inaudible command from the doctor. They had to resign themselves to wait until the he emerged. Raoul slumped forward in his chair, his head hung in his hands. He was the reason that she was in that room. If he wasn't such a damned gentleman all the time, if he had shoved Nicole out the door the moment he sensed her interest in him, Christine would be fine. He was so lost in his guilt that he almost didn't hear when Erik began to speak.

"How did you know?" he asked softly.

"I'm sorry?" Raoul was unsure what he meant.

"Christine. How did you know that she was the only woman you could ever love? After all you've done for her I assume that you do love her," Erik didn't look up as he spoke.

"Are you certain that you want to hear this?" Raoul asked sympathetically.

"I am certain that I do not. But I think I need to."

"As you wish." Raoul began thoughtfully, "I knew that I loved Christine before I even knew what love was. We were both so young when we met. She had lost her scarf-"

"I have heard the story," Erik broke in.

"I beg your pardon. Then she told you that we also met again later?" Raoul could see how stiffly Erik sat. He wasn't sure whether he should continue, but Erik had asked him.

"She did," he replied shortly.

"I knew then that she would never be my wife. My family would never permit it. And at my young age, that knowledge was devastating. Knowing that duty would always take place over love…I couldn't stand it. I gave up entertaining any thoughts of marriage, and steeled myself against all feelings that would lead me there. Eventually, even my fond memories of Christine became cold recollections."

Erik looked at him questioningly. He couldn't understand how Raoul could claim to feel nothing for Christine. Why would he have gone to such lengths to have her, if she meant nothing to him?

Raoul continued, his voice becoming lighter, "I built a wall around my heart that I thought nothing could penetrate. But with just one look, Christine could bring it all crashing down. How could I go on living, knowing that I gave up on the one woman who could do that to me?"

Erik shut his eyes tightly. He had always focused on the pain _he_ had felt when he lost Christine. And why shouldn't he? She was the only woman who could ever see past the monster to what lay inside him. But Raoul too had been forced to give her up once. In all the time he had spent hating the Vicomte, he had never once considered that this was a pain that they shared. He turned to speak to Raoul, although he was unsure what he could say, when the door opened and Henriette walked out somberly, followed by the doctor. He held a blood-soaked cloth that he was using to wipe off his hands.

"Monsieur le Vicomte?" He looked at Raoul who stood to speak with him. The doctor spoke in hushed tones. "Your wife is going to be fine. She will need plenty of rest. But…I'm sorry Monsieur. She has lost the baby."

Raoul's mouth hung open and he collapsed back into his chair. "Oh God, why?"

Henriette stood beside him, hesitantly placing a hand on his shoulder.

"May I go in and see her now?" Raoul asked, his voice hoarse.

"Monsieur, she…well, she is asking for Erik. Who is Erik?" Henriette's words stung him. _She was asking for Erik._

Erik looked up in disbelief. "She wants to see me?" He asked hopefully. Then he looked down at Raoul.

"Go. I would not deny her wish, especially now," Raoul said miserably, striding from the room.

Several minutes later there was a knock on the library door where Raoul had locked himself in. He had drawn all the curtains closed, shutting out all light. In his hand he held a decanter of brandy that he was quickly emptying into his mouth. "Leave me," he called weakly. Before he could stand, the door was unlocked and Erik had entered.

"How did you-"

"Now is not the time for questions, Monsieur. You must go to her," Erik said quickly, taking the bottle from Raoul.

"She doesn't want me. She wants you. I see everything much more clearly now," Raoul replied dejectedly.

"There is much to be explained, but it cannot be done if you sit here in a drunken stupor. If you act the fool I have always thought you to be and do not go to her now, she will never forgive you."

Raoul looked at Erik intently, trying to decide whether he really believed him._ Much to be explained? What in the world does that mean?_ Whether he wanted to trust Erik or not, he knew how Christine must be hurting. If there was anything he could do to alleviate her pain, even just a little, then he would do it, no matter the cost to him.

He cautiously entered the room. Christine lay back against a mound of pillows, staring dazedly out the window. The ordeal she had been through was apparent on her tear-streaked face. She turned when Raoul's footsteps caused a creak in the floorboards. She motioned to a seat beside the bed, a seat that Erik had occupied only moments before. Raoul sat and reached out for her hand that lay limply on the bed. As his skin met hers, he began to cry again.

"Mon amour, please, no more tears," she implored him. "You don't understand…"

"No, Christine. I think I do. Please, chéri, I don't want you to worry about me," he said in a broken voice.

"Raoul, I asked for Erik because…because I couldn't bear to face you. I felt so guilty about losing the baby. If I hadn't been so suspicious of you, if I hadn't followed you up the stairs…oh God, if I had only believed you when you told me…" she couldn't finish her thought. She was crying uncontrollably, squeezing Raoul's hand tightly.

"Christine look at me," Raoul said gently. "You are not responsible for what happened. Do you understand me?"

She nodded slowly, though she was still crying. Raoul reached across her and took her other hand, wrapping them both in his. "I know how much you have been through today. We can discuss everything tomorrow."

"Will you stay with me?" she asked timidly.

"As long as you need me to."


	28. Confession

Night closed in on them again before Christine awoke. Raoul had shut the window and tucked Christine's blankets in tight to protect her from the chilled wind that blustered outside. A warm fire blazed in the hearth, the flickering flames the only light that fell upon Christine's face. Now Raoul sat forward in his chair as she began to stir. He gently stroked her hand as he softly spoke, "Are you hungry, chéri?"

"I suppose I should eat something. Oh Raoul, I just feel so…empty," she began to sniffle as she wrapped her arms about her stomach.

Raoul swallowed the sob in his throat, "I know this is hard. But we will find a way through it, I promise you."

"Is she still here?" Christine asked fearfully, looking towards the door as if she expected Nicole to come bursting through.

"No, she has been gone for quite some time. Michelle quickly escorted her out the door after…after you fell. But let's not speak of her now," he offered her a sad smile.

Christine looked up at him seriously. "There is something that I must say, and I need you to listen."

Raoul nodded silently. He had been preparing himself for this moment. He wasn't going to fight her or try to make it difficult. At least it seemed she was going to let him go gently.

"I am sure you have many questions…about why I helped Erik escape," she began slowly.

"Christine, you don't have to-"

"You said that you would listen," she said sternly.

Raoul breathed in deeply, becoming quiet again. She was obviously determined to voice the thoughts that hung in her mind. Was she so eager to be rid of him?

"I have had a difficult time understanding the reasons myself. Part of the matter was that…I did love him. When I believed he was the angel my father sent me, I became enamored of him. And I think some of those feelings have always lingered there, under the surface. If my love for you were an ocean, then my love for him would be the current. You do not know it's there, but it always pulls you away from the shore, away from where you feel safe." She bit her lip as Raoul lowered his eyes from hers, but she pressed on. "I think that is why it pained me so to think of him being dragged away to the noose. I saved him because I love him."

Christine turned her head as Raoul stood and started to pace the room. His breaking heart pumped fiery blood through his veins. It threatened to burn through him completely until there was nothing left of him but ash. And he would be grateful for it. Then Christine's soft voice flowed soothingly to his ears. "And the other reason was you."

Raoul furrowed his brow in confusion. Christine gave him a small smile and once again motioned for him to sit. As he lowered himself into the chair, she gently stroked his cheek. "I have always been honest with you, always told you everything, save for this. After we escaped the Opera house, I thought I was free. But that night, when everything was silent, I heard him. He was still in my head, singing the most pitiful song. I felt as though my heart were breaking with his. And it wouldn't stop- the next night and the next. I…I didn't know what to do."

"Christine, you never said anything," Raoul said, alarmed.

"I was too afraid. Afraid that he would always be there, afraid of what you would think. In time I learned to guard myself against it. I couldn't hear it over the sound of your voice, your laughter. You became my freedom," she finished warmly.

Raoul's eyes still swam with confusion. He was prepared for her rejection, believed that he had known the words she intended to use to release him. But he was no longer certain. Had Erik known all that she would say when he brought him to her?

"When I learned that Erik was going to die, the song began to grow louder again." Christine's voice became excited now, "And then I realized it. Why I could still hear his song in my head. It's because I was the cause of all his pain. My conscious spoke to me through his voice. I thought perhaps, if I did something to save him, I could redeem myself and free us."

Raoul nodded his head slowly, taking in everything Christine had just said. His voice was filled with sad doubt as he spoke. "Once you had freed him, you stayed with him."

"I…I was only trying to help him," Christine answered. Raoul looked back at her with questioning eyes. With a small sigh, she relented something she had hoped she wouldn't have to say. "I thought at first it could be something more. That perhaps I stayed with him because I secretly wished to. But I missed you and Christophe so terribly. And when I realized I was pregnant, my only thoughts were of finding my way back to you." She gripped both of his hands tightly as though she longed to keep him from being pulled away.

"You are drawn to him. You always have been. I must be lacking something that you find in him," Raoul said, slowly pulling his hands from her.

"Mon amour, that is not true," Christine protested.

"Chéri, I do not want you to stay in an unhappy marriage. Even if it hurts me to let you go," Raoul said honestly, looking deeply into her eyes.

"You don't have to let me go. I am exactly where I wish to be." She placed a hand on his chest, "I love you."

He moved onto the bed beside her, covering her hand with his. "I do not want you to spare my feelings or fear that you will be unable to see Christophe. You are certain that this is what you want?" he asked somberly.

Christine wrapped her arms about his neck and pulled him into a kiss. Raoul's mind was floating as her soft lips brushed lightly against his. His fingers gripped her hips tightly as he deepened their kiss. Suddenly he pulled back, shaking his head.

"This is not what you need right now. We can wait for this until you are well again." He leaned over and placed a tender kiss on her lips. He was smiling brightly as he stood. "I will have Henriette bring in some food."

As he reached for the brass door handle, it was violently thrown open, a body being thrown at his feet.


	29. Not For Him

_I love you._ Once again Erik heard Christine sincerely speak these words, and once again they were not meant for him. He had stolen away yet again, intruding on a lovers' confession that he was never meant to hear. This time he hid not behind a statue on a rooftop, but behind solid wood; though he had been certain that neither could obscure the sound of his breaking heart. The murderous raged that had once filled him was this time replaced with resigned acceptance. He stepped back from the door, unable to listen any longer. The dead silence that hung about the manor only seemed to amplify his loneliness. He wandered slowly down the hall to the library and picked up the decanter he had taken from Raoul. Could he really find solace at the bottom of a bottle? As he took a drink, he reflected on the conversation he had shared with Christine in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

_The smile that had crept upon his lips faded the instant he saw her there on the bed, looking frail and on the verge of death. He rushed to her side and took her hand. "Mon ange!" he exclaimed._

_Her eyes filled with tears as she turned to look at him. "He hates me, doesn't he?"_

_"What are you talking about, Christine?"_

_"Raoul. He hates me for what I've done," her cold hand was shaking._

_"What could you have done to merit his hate?" Erik asked tenderly._

_"I lost our baby. I am responsible," her voice was breaking with emotion._

_"You are not responsible for this. That vile woman is the one to blame." Hatred and fury flashed in his eyes, but quickly faded to unwilling compassion as he looked down on Christine, " And…no. He does not hate you."_

_She looked at Erik hopefully. "You are sure?"_

_Erik slowly released her hand. "Would you rather he take my place?"_

_She shook her head quickly. "No, I can't see him. Not yet. Besides, I had hoped to speak with you first."_

_"And what is it that you wish to discuss?" he asked coolly._

_"I think it time that you and I have an honest discussion…about us, our relationship," her voice was steady, but Erik felt the uncertainty. _

_"You are right, my dear. I think it is an appropriate time to uncover the secrets of our hearts, bring light to the darkest corners of our minds."_

_She stirred uncomfortably, unsure of what he expected her to say. "My feelings for you have been conflicting, complicated to say the very least. I hardly know where to begin," she said wearily. "I was a naïve girl when you first came to me. I truly believed that you were an angel sent by my father."_

_Erik hung his head in shame. He understood now how his deception had harmed her. She gave his hand a slight squeeze as she continued._

_"And I loved you. I think when you revealed yourself to me that I understood who you truly were, though I clung to the illusion that I had come to depend on. When Raoul promised to love me and protect me, I no longer needed that illusion. I abandoned you and I'm sorry. But your anger…the murders…I was terrified."_

_"I would never intentionally harm you, Christine," he said, his eyes pleading her forgiveness._

_"I know that now," she said reassuringly. "After I left…with Raoul…I thought you were gone from my life. But you stayed with me in my thoughts. I felt such guilt over what you had to endure. And though it may do nothing to ease your pain, I think some part of me has always loved you."_

_"I am glad that we understand better our past. But what of our present…and our future?" he asked with anticipation._

_"I love him, Erik," she said simply. "I don't know that I would survive without him." _

_Erik's fist clenched, his knuckles turning white. For a brief moment he imagined disposing of the Vicomte, that which stood between himself and happiness. The thought left his mind quickly as he regained control of his emotions. Though they had reached a certain understanding, he could feel nothing more for the man. He could never make another attempt on his life, if only for Christine. Erik finally nodded, signaling his acceptance. He lifted her hand and placed a light kiss on her knuckles. He wished to hurry from the room before she could see the tears springing to his eyes, but she called him back to her bedside._

_She placed her hands on either side of his face and tilted his head down slightly. She slowly lowered her lips to his forehead. Erik felt the warmth of her kiss spread across his face, down his spine, until it filled every part of him._

_"I wish you would stay here with us."_

_"As my angel wishes," he answered in a composed voice._

Erik placed the bottle back on the shelf, barely a full drink taken from it. He stepped out into the hall hesitantly. He had never been an invited guest in any home, least of all the home of an aristocrat. The pain in his stomach reminded him how much time had passed since he last ate, but he was unsure where he should inquire about finding some food. His feet took him in the direction of the servants' quarters, but he turned on his heel to walk once more past the room where Christine lay. He was astonished to see a shadowy form huddled beside the door, glancing around nervously before placing an eager ear back to the wood. How dare that woman return! With an anger he thought banished from him, he hurried forward, throwing the offender inside the room.


	30. Uncovering Truth

A mess of flaming red hair, usually hidden beneath a white bonnet, fell upon the face of the young woman on the floor. Erik realized that, in the darkness, he had mistaken her for the scheming Duchess. The woman he had thrown inside lay motionless on the cold tiles.

Christine looked down at her in shock. "Erik! Is she…?"

"No, my dear. She is quite fine," he said soothingly to Christine. But as he spoke to the woman on the floor, his voice grew cold. "Explain yourself, or you shall forever remain silent."

The woman's head spun about as she looked on Erik in fear. She sat up quickly, throwing herself at Raoul's feet, her hands gripping his pants as she pleaded. "Please, Monsieur, please!"

"Michelle, what is the meaning of this?" Raoul asked her with confusion.

"I found her outside the door. She seemed quite interested in what transpired in this room," Erik answered for her.

"Please, Monsieur, speak nothing of this to my mistress. I beg of you. She will beat me if she finds out!" Michelle cried hysterically.

"I would never do such a thing!" Christine yelled indignantly.

Michelle looked at her contritely. "Oh no, Madame Christine. I don't speak of you." She suddenly became silent, her eyes falling to the floor.

"Continue," Raoul prodded coolly.

"You both have shown me such kindness, and all I have returned to you is betrayal." She covered her face with her hands, beginning to sob.

Raoul lifted the chair that sat at Christine's bedside and moved it to the middle of the room. He gently grabbed Michelle's arms and lifted her to the seat. Christine held out her hand, an embroidered white handkerchief in her fingers. Raoul took it and passed it on to Michelle.

"Merci," she said quietly, dabbing her eyes. "I know what you must think of me. But before you can know what I've done, you must know what my life has been."

"Speak briefly," Erik commanded.

She nodded fearfully. "My mother was a maid to the Baronesse de Bourgogne. My mother was a decent woman, Monsieur, but the Baron… They soon began a love affair, meeting in secret whenever his wife was occupied. Her lady discovered their indiscretion when my mother became pregnant with me. She was thrown out on the streets. The Baronesse made certain that my mother would find no work as a maid. The Baron would not even acknowledge me."

"All this is terribly sad, Mademoiselle, but what is the relevance to our current situation?" Erik questioned apathetically.

Looking at Erik, Michelle was unable to speak. The rage that she sensed hidden behind that mask rendered her dumb. She looked once again at Raoul and continued. "We had no money, Monsieur. We lived in the most deplorable conditions for so long. Then one day, a few short years ago, I was approached to be a servant for the Duchess de Anjou."

"Nicole," Raoul uttered in horrible comprehension.

"Oui, Monsieur. She seemed very agreeable at first. I even had extra money to send to my mother. But the first time I upset her, I received such a lashing. I…I could barely move the next day. What could I do, Monsieur? I was forced to do everything she asked of me. And I'm afraid that is why I am responsible for the troubles that have befallen your family." Michelle's whole body was trembling as she cried into the handkerchief.

"What have you done?" Christine asked, her voice just above a whisper.

"You must understand how fixated she was on Master Raoul. She would spend hours in these terrible rants. She claimed that her aunt and uncle had approached Philippe about making her Master Raoul's bride," she stopped to wipe her eyes once again. "She swore they were arranging the engagement when it was discovered that the Comte was dead and his brother run away with the diva of the Opera Populaire. Morning after morning she would sit at the breakfast table, mulling over her new plan to win you back. 'The Duchess of Anjou does not lose a man to some no-status opera rat' she would say."

It was so quiet that it seemed no one was even breathing. Raoul moved back to Christine's side. She reached up and gripped the hands he lay reassuringly on her shoulders. Erik's body tensed as he watched them. Though they had not noticed, Michelle had. She feared that Erik would release his anger on them, so she quickly continued.

"She learned all that she could about your relationship, studied every report and article she could obtain. There was so much mystery that surrounded you. She was especially intrigued by the involvement of the Phantom." Her eyes shifted to Erik's face, then quickly back to the wall in front of her. "She couldn't tell what was fact or fiction, so she devised a way to discover the truth. She found someone who she believed could help her."

"Who?" Christine asked.

"I'm not sure who he was, some Persian man. She forced me to go to him, under the assumed identity of a servant for Monsieur de Chagny. I told him that the Vicomte desired to know more about the Phantom and his relationship with Madame Christine. He told me all that he had seen and all that he later learned from the Phantom." She looked uncertainly at Raoul and Christine. "And he said that, despite all that had occurred, he believed that Madame Christine still cared for her Angel."

Christine drew herself up in the bed. She breathed in deeply before she spoke, her voice restrained. "And what did the Duchess do with this newfound information?"

Michelle looked at her hesitantly. "First, she wanted me to become a servant here. She wanted to better understand what your marriage was like, any problems she might be able to exploit. Once I had accomplished this, she went to the Opera Populaire, to Monsieurs Andre and Firmin." She glanced fearfully at Erik. "She offered them 100,000 francs if they would accuse the Phantom of murder and aid the police in his capture."

"She was responsible for my incarceration?" Erik hissed.

She looked sadly at Raoul and Christine. "She had hoped that it would cause a rift in your marriage. She never expected Madame Christine to leave."

"No, I suppose she was just rather fortunate in that," Christine snapped angrily.

"I am so sorry. I never wanted any of this," Michelle said imploringly.

Raoul gave Christine's shoulders a comforting squeeze. "Where is she staying?"

"She…she is staying in a small brick townhouse beside la Cathédrale de Saint-Étienne," Michelle responded.

The next moment Raoul was angrily storming towards the door.

"Raoul, what are you doing?" Christine called, her voice shaking with worry. She knew how violently Raoul reacted whenever she was threatened.

He stopped, but didn't turn back as he answered her. "I am going to deal with her."

"Monsieur, this is not the charge of a gentleman," Erik said, stepping in front of him. As he turned on his heel, Raoul grabbed his arm roughly.

"You would detain me?" Erik asked sarcastically.

"Whatever punishment she deserves, it will not come from you," Raoul said firmly.

"You think yourself the only one worthy of dispensing justice? Do not forget that it was my life she sacrificed in her pursuit of you. And don't ever assume that you are the only man who should defend Christine," Erik replied threateningly. He pulled his arm from Raoul's tight grip.

As he stepped outside the manor, Erik could hear Christine calling wildly to him. "Erik! Please don't do this! Do not risk everything over her!" He closed his eyes and tried to shut out her voice. Everything felt heightened as he walked through the streets, breathing in the crisp night air. Finally, Erik came upon the home that Michelle had described. He smiled calmly, knowing that his vengeance waited inside.


	31. Vengeance

"Nicole…" An ethereal voice quietly spoke her name, breaking into her sleep. Impertinent servants! Someone would surely suffer for this disrespectful act. To wake her in the middle of the night, addressing her by her first name no less!

"Nicole…" the voice called from behind the door. She sat up with a huff, her down-filled blanket falling to her waist. The voice spoke her name again, but this time it called from beside her window. Nicole looked about her room fearfully. There was no one there but herself. She rubbed her eyes, convinced that she had dreamt the voice, and laid her head back against her pillow.

"Nicole…" She jumped with a start as the voice whispered into her ear. Now it called to her from under the bed. She pulled her covers tightly up to her chest, her eyes straining to find a form in the darkness.

"Who is there?" she called weakly.

She became suddenly rigid as two icy hands closed around her neck. A pair of gleaming yellow eyes bore into hers. She felt she would die simply by looking into those eyes. Had death itself come to claim her? She dug her nails into the hands at her throat, clawing at the putrid flesh. Her attacker appeared to feel no pain. Her attempts to escape seemed only to further his lust for her blood, as with each strike she made his grip only tightened. The figure leaned his face in closer to Nicole's. If she had any breath, she would have gasped in fear at the sight before her eyes. His deformed, twisted features were unlike anything she had ever witnessed. His malformed lips curled up in a malicious sneer.

"I know the darkness that lends itself to obsession, Mademoiselle," the voice spoke menacingly. "But your actions have invoked the wrath of an unforgiving malevolence. How shall you make atonement for sins?"

Nicole's eyes widened in horror and her mouth moved wordlessly. She tried desperately to take a breath, her face beginning to match the blue hue of her blankets.

"Your life, for the life of her child? Though I hardly think you sufficient penance. What? Do you wish to speak?" the voice asked calmly, releasing slightly his hold on Nicole's neck.

"Please," she sputtered hoarsely. "Please."

The yellow eyes seemed to laugh at her entreaty. The man clucked his tongue at her. He spoke with an amused tone, "Is that all? I had expected something more."

The hands closed once more around her throat. Nicole felt as though her lungs would explode. Every muscle in her body tightened, crying out for relief. Silent tears spilled down her cheeks. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she grew weaker and weaker. Her struggling ceased as her body went slack and her arms fell limply at her sides. Erik moved his fingers to the side of her throat. No pulse. He gently lowered her eyelids down over her green bloodshot eyes.

He frowned slightly at the finger-shaped bruises around her neck. He had hoped to avoid drawing too much attention to her demise, but his hands were the only instrument of death available to him. As he reflected on it, Erik realized that he had never killed someone with his own hands. He had developed several methods of stealing life while he was in Persia, but he was always removed from the death, a spectator. With the Punjab lasso, he could be near his victims while they slowly perished, but it didn't hold the strange intimacy he felt as his hands gripped Nicole's throat. He had delighted in her death. There was a sweet revenge in destroying the woman who had harmed his Christine.

Outside the door, a floorboard creaked. The soft glow of a candle threw shadows under the door. With quick strides, Erik moved to the window. He threw it open, the breeze ruffling the lace curtains. He let himself slip down to the cobbled street. As he walked in the direction of the de Chagny manor, the sound of his feet falling upon the stone was interrupted by a horrified scream.


	32. Erik's Return

A/N: Hey everybody! I know this update took a while, but I just moved back in to school a few days ago and I've been really busy. We're getting close to the end now, so hopefully I'll be able to get the last few chapters up pretty soon.

Raoul watched the rise and fall of Christine's chest, her steady and even breathing somehow calming him. She had fallen asleep shortly after Erik had fled from the house, but not before she requested to see Christophe. Raoul had brought him down, worried how he would react upon seeing Christine in this state. But the young child rushed to his mother's arms without hesitation.

"Raoul," she called softly for his assistance, still too weak to even lift her son.

He carefully placed Christophe in her lap as he slid beside her in the bed. Christine nestled in closer to him, wrapping his strong arms around her. She sat there so quietly that he hardly realized that sleep had claimed her. Raoul noticed now that her face was regaining its former color, a pink hue returning to her cheeks. He was glad to see she was improving, if only slightly. For a time while he waited for the doctor, he had been overwhelmed by the fear that she would leave them. He held her tighter now, as though his arms could somehow keep her there.

Christine whimpered softly as she awoke, looking around the room sleepily. "Has he returned yet?"

"No, chéri. We have heard nothing from him." Raoul shifted his weight away from her so that he could look into her eyes. "I know this might sound harsh, but it is possible that he has no intention of returning. If you have chosen me, he really has no reason to stay."

"I asked him to stay, at least for a little while. Besides, he would never just leave me," she said matter-of-factly as she bounced Christophe on her lap.

Raoul could find no response for her. He was afraid to voice his thoughts because, truthfully, he had hoped that Erik was leaving them forever. He would never say that to her though, especially now. He knew how concerned she was for Erik.

"I was thinking that perhaps we could try getting you out of bed tomorrow morning. If you feel ready for it, I could help you walk about the house, maybe even around the garden."

Christine signaled her agreement with a lingering kiss. She pulled away only when she heard the open and close of a door in the hall. Her eyes were soft and full of relief when Erik entered. A wide smile crossed her lips as she offered her hand out to him. Raoul moved from the bed and stepped in front of him. Christine, suspecting an altercation, handed Christophe over to Henriette who hurried with him from the room.

"What have you done?" Raoul asked fiercely.

"My business is none of your concern, Monsieur le Vicomte." Erik bowed slightly to Christine, then stepped towards the door.

But Raoul had the door closed before Erik could reach it. He now stood before it, a barricade to Erik's escape. "You will not leave this room until you have answered my question."

Erik's eyes narrowed as he advanced on Raoul. "Do not forget to whom you speak."

"You no longer frighten me," Raoul said menacingly.

"Raoul, must we do this now?" Christine called exhaustedly.

"Forgive me, mon amour, but I'm afraid so," he said firmly.

"I have killed once tonight, Vicomte. To take your life would be of no consequence to me."

"Stop this!" Christine cried. The tension in the room was working itself into a frenzy, as everyone began to speak heatedly.

"So she is dead then?"

"Her life was of no importance, what does it matter that I did?"

"You didn't have to kill her!" Raoul yelled indignantly.

"I'm glad she's dead!" Christine covered her mouth as soon as the words left it. Her eyes were wide, as though her outburst surprised even herself. "I…I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I don't know why I said that. I'm not really glad that she's dead. I would not wish that on anyone. It's just…oh Raoul, our baby…"

Raoul rushed to her side as she broke into sobs. He gently smoothed back her hair as he rocked her in his arms, whispering soft words of comfort in her ear. Erik looked upon him with disdain. He had risked everything for her, sought to defend her honor, and yet it was the Vicomte that she clung to. He took advantage of the situation, stealing from the room before either of them had a chance to notice. He had not gone far when Raoul caught up to him in the hallway.

"Excuse me….Erik," Raoul spoke hesitantly, using the name for the first time. "Christine and I shall be staying in the guest room. We think it wise not to move her just yet. But she has requested that you stay nearby. We see no need for you to stay out in the old stables."

"Where shall I be sleeping then?"

"There is another room, just across the hall from ours. I think you will find it quite comfortable."

"I have no need for comfort. But if it is what Christine desires…"

"I will notify the servants. Everything shall be prepared by the time you are ready to retire. You must surely be hungry. I will have Henriette send some food in."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

Raoul gave him a slight nod before turning to return to Christine. From behind, he heard Erik speaking again. "But please, Monsieur, do not mistake these pleasantries for friendship."

"I would never make such an error," Raoul called over his shoulder, smiling brightly.


	33. Closing In

A/N: Two updates in one day? I'm on a roll!

"Careful now, watch your step. Do you need to rest mon amour?" Raoul held tightly to Christine's arm, leading her through the house. She was still very weak, but with his help she was able to move about fairly easily. They were making a second round past the main door, when someone on the other side began to knock. Michelle smiled shyly as she stepped past Raoul and Christine to answer it. As she swung the door open, Raoul could see Inspector Reinard standing outside, absentmindedly glancing about the house.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle. I have come to see…" Reinard trailed off as he noticed Raoul and Christine standing before him. "Why, Madame la Vicomtesse! I was unaware that you had returned." He glared accusingly at Raoul.

"Michelle, assist my wife back to her room please," Raoul instructed, offering Christine's arm to Michelle. He pulled Christine's hair back and placed a light kiss on her forehead. "I shall be in shortly."

He watched as Michelle and Christine walked away, waiting until they were behind closed doors to turn his attention to Reinard.

"Why did you not inform me that she was here?" Reinard asked crossly.

"My wife has been through quite an ordeal, Monsieur. She recently lost the child that she was carrying. She did not need you badgering her about an escape that she was not involved in," Raoul said defiantly.

"I am the one who will decide whether or not she was involved, Raoul. But I have come here today on an entirely different matter."

"And what is that?"

"You are acquainted with the Duchess de Anjou?"

Raoul's heart sank into his stomach. He was here about Nicole? If he believed Christine had helped Erik escape, could he think that she also had a hand in Nicole's murder? He cleared his throat, "Yes, we were childhood friends." _What was I thinking? He cannot know that Erik was involved in Nicole's death. He cannot use this to get to Christine._

"I see. Are you aware that the Duchess was murdered last night?"

"She's dead?" Raoul asked, feigning surprise.

"Her maid found her last night, strangled in her bed."

"That's terrible. I will have to send my condolences to her family."

"According to her maid, she departed sometime in the afternoon to come here for dinner, but returned not long after she left. Can you explain to me why she did not stay very long?"

"We were preparing for dinner when Christine fainted and fell down the steps. That was when she lost our child. You can understand why we had to suspend the social engagement."

"Yes, I see. I'm very sorry for your loss, Raoul. But now I must ask if I can come in and have a look around the house." Reinard said, gazing inside.

"You certainly may, when you have the proper authority to do so," Raoul said curtly, closing the door in Reinard's face.

Reinard pounded the door with closed fists. "Raoul! You are only making things more difficult!" Raoul leaned back against the door, his eyes turned up towards the ceiling. "I will be back!" Raoul moved the curtains from the widow to watch Reinard mount his horse and ride away.

"Darling, what's going on? Who was that man?" Christine asked, standing in the doorway to the guest room.

"Mon amour, you should be resting. There's no need to worry," Raoul said soothingly as he approached her.

"Well I am already worried, and telling me not to be will do no good. You may as well answer me."

Raoul let out a heavy sigh. "Very well. But first you must get back to bed."

Christine held out her hand for him, and he wrapped it in his own. She leaned against him as she lifted herself onto the bed. Raoul began to speak as she made herself comfortable. "His name is Inspector Reinard. He is an old friend of mine, though we are not very friendly anymore. He suspects that you helped Erik escape."

Christine looked up in alarm. "Did he come to find Erik?"

"I don't believe so. He said he was here to ask about Nicole. But it's only a matter of time until he comes to search the house."

"Mon dieu," Christine sighed.

"He has to leave Christine," he said softly. "For all our safety."

"No, Raoul. He…he can't. He's not safe anywhere…"

"We are not safe with him here."

Christine averted her eyes from Raoul's. "I'm not ready to let him go," she said sadly.

Raoul nodded slowly, his eyes dropping to the side. After a moment of silent thought, he stood and left the room without glancing back at Christine.

_I have upset him. I shouldn't have said that. Oh Raoul, forgive me!_ Christine sat in her room, silently pleading for Raoul's pardon, when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called excitedly, hoping that Raoul had returned to hear her apology.

"It is time to say good-bye, mon ange," Erik said as he entered.

"Good-bye? Erik I don't understand."

Erik sat down and held her hands, his thumbs gently rubbing her knuckles. "I know that the Inspector has come for me. I will not put you or your family in danger."

"But Erik, where will you go?"

"I…I don't know. But surely there is a place where I could make use of my extensive talents."

"No, I won't let you leave like this. Raoul will think of something, he always does. You don't have to go," she pleaded.

"Christine-"

"No! Just give me a few hours. Please, Erik, I beg you. Go to your room for just a short time. Please."

Erik grudgingly relented. "Very well, Christine. I will be in my room for one hour. But please, don't let your hopes up too high." His hands slowly slid from hers, leaving an icy cold upon her fingers.

"Please, Raoul," she breathed. "Please find a way to save him."

No more than twenty minutes had passed, but Christine was certain that it had been hours, that Erik was gone. Silent tears were forming in her eyes when Raoul slowly opened the door, peaking inside.

"I didn't want to wake you if you were sleeping," he said softly. "Why are you crying chéri?"

"He's gone, isn't he mon amour?"

"Erik? No, he is in his room, reading."

"He gave us an hour, Raoul. Only an hour! He is leaving us!"

"Christine, I have to go into the city. I will be gone only a short time. I want you to take this paper and pen and write down your most important possessions."

"Raoul, what is going on?"

"There is no time to explain right now. You must pick only the things most important to you. Give the list to Henriette and have her pack them up. Make sure to include Christophe's things as well. Say nothing of this to anyone but Henriette. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but-"

Raoul placed a hurried kiss on her lips then dashed from the room. Christine's face was still contorted in bewilderment as she heard the door slam shut and the pounding of hooves outside her window.


	34. For Us

A/N: A thousand apologies for the delay. I have had this chapter sitting on my computer for so long, I just didn't have the time to polish it off. Sorry!

Her body felt heavy, as though all her sorrows were weighing down upon her. Her head leaning against her husband's shoulder, her hand gripped his as their carriage bounced along the cobbled streets. Soft brown curls fell in her face, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Please don't cry, chéri," Raoul tried to console her, taking the delicate handkerchief from her hands and wiping her tears. He lined her cheek with soft kisses.

"Raoul, how could this happen?" Christine questioned him, her voice barely louder than the sound of the wheels.

Raoul dropped his head, thinking for a moment before he answered her. "I'm sorry to admit that it was all my doing."

She looked up at him in bewilderment. "What do you mean? How could you do this?"

"I could think of nothing else. Please believe that I tried. I did the only thing I could to save us," he admitted with a heavy sigh.

She buried her face into his sleeve, letting the fabric absorb her tears and her muffled cries. Raoul's hand found its way to her hair, gently stroking her soft locks as he rocked her. After a few minutes her eyes dried and her breathing slowly returned to its normal rhythm.

Their carriage, along with the one that had been following behind them, stopped in front of a set of stone steps. The valettook their bags down and carried them toward the waiting doors of the Opera Populaire.

"What is going on? Raoul, what are we doing here?" Christine asked, stepping out onto the street. "Raoul!" she cried, trying to pull him from his conversation with the driver.

"I'm sorry, mon amour," he apologized as he strode towards her. "The servants will help you get settled in. I need to meet with someone right now."

"Get settled in? Raoul, I don't understand," her voice was becoming harsh with sobs.

Raoul removed a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Handing it to Christine, he spoke, "It is the deed to the Opera Populaire. We are the new owners…and for the time being, this is our home."

"Mon amour, please don't leave me now," she pleaded, grasping the lapels of his jacket.

Raoul pulled her into his arms, whispering softly into her ear as he rubbed her back, "I would give anything to be here with you. But this is most important."

She released him roughly, almost pushing him away. "So go then. I wouldn't want to keep you from your important business."

"Christine, please don't be angry with me. This is for us, for our son," Raoul begged, reaching for her.

After a moment of seething, Christine relented, allowing Raoul to possess her hands. "Forgive me. I'm just frightened."

"I know," he replied soothingly.

She shook her head sadly. "Everything is just changing so quickly… You're my anchor, Raoul. Without you, I'm afraid I'll just be washed away with the tide."

Raoul swept the hair from her face. "I swear, nothing will befall you here. Please trust me when I say that this is something I must do. I will explain everything upon my return."

Christine nodded softly, offering her forehead to Raoul's kiss. He stroked her cheek with his thumb and gave her a final kiss before turning back to the carriage. He watched through the window as he pulled away from the opera house. Christine stood upon the steps, arms crossed over her chest, her hair blowing in the wind. Henriette was on Christophe's heels as he ran playfully after his father's carriage. They were safe now, Raoul assured himself. And nothing would ever threaten them again.

As the carriage disappeared from view, Christine felt a warm hand upon her shoulder. A smile crossed her lips as she hugged the blonde-haired girl who stood behind her.

"You don't know how good it is to see you, Meg."

"We have missed you so much," Meg replied, releasing her old friend. "And who is this?" she bent down as Christophe approached the steps.

"This is the joy of my life," Christine answered as she lifted her son up. "Christophe, say 'bonjour' to mama's friend Meg."

"Bonjour," he said dutifully.

Meg tried to suppress a giggle. "Christine, he is absolutely adorable. You just call me Tante Meg," she said to him as she rubbed his arm with her finger. "Come inside now, I'll show you to your rooms."

"I will carry Christophe, Madame," Henriette offered. "We don't want you to overexert yourself."

Christine followed Meg through the winding corridors of the Opera Populaire, though she hardly needed guidance. Her feet remembered every step she had taken through those halls. But then Meg led her up a set of stairs that she did not recognize.

"These rooms are reserved for the wealthiest patrons of the opera house," Meg explained, opening a set of doors into a very large sitting room. "Their reputation is not quite…sterling. But upon purchasing of the opera house, your husband requested that they be arranged specifically for your family."

"And how, I wonder, was my husband aware of the existence of these rooms?" Christine questioned aloud as she glanced about her.

"Oh, Christine…I…I'm sure that it's not what you…"

Christine smiled, playfully pushing at her friend's arm. "No need for worry, Meg. I was speaking in jest."

Meg sighed in relief. "You always enjoyed playing awful tricks on me," she said with a laugh, lowering herself upon the settee.

Christine's mouth opened wide with amusement and feigned shock as she sat beside Meg. "As though you never tried to play a prank on me! I still have not forgotten that dreadful fake rat you placed in my bed."

"What about the night you pretended to be a ghost and chased me around the dormitories?" Meg retorted.

"I was only wearing a sheet! You were a fool to believe I really was a ghost."

"I was only 5!"

Both girls fell into a fit of laughter. But slowly the smile slid from Christine's face. "Things were so much simpler then, weren't they," she said wistfully.

"Things are not so terrible now," Meg replied reassuringly.

Tears sprung to Christine's eyes, reflecting the light of the lamps. Meg reached out and squeezed Christine's hand. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I have done some things, many things, which I am not proud of."

Meg smiled softly. "No one can be perfect all the time, Christine. We are lucky if we are able to be perfect for just a few moments in our entire lives."

"I have hurt the man I love more than anything else in the world," Christine choked, wringing her hands.

"And he has forgiven you. Now you need to forgive yourself."

"I helped Erik escape from prison," Christine stated.

Meg's eyes widened in shock. "Christine…"

"And I ran away with him." Christine proceeded with her story, relating every detail to her old friend. She was lucky to have someone like Meg, she realized. As she spoke of what happened, Meg did not judge her. She listened with compassion, held her when she cried.

"Didn't you want to know why we are here, Meg?" Christine questioned once all had been revealed.

"Well, the question had crossed my mind. I didn't want to be rude."

"Our home burned to the ground this morning," Christine answered sadly.

"Christine, I'm so sorry. After all you've been through…"

"We escaped with our lives and a few possessions. We should be grateful."

"How fortunate that Raoul was able to procure your rooms here."

"Yes," Christine replied, her quiet voice lacking in emotion. "We were very fortunate."

At that moment, Raoul was also weaving a story. Inspector Reinard was listening intently to Raoul's tale, which was nearing its end. "So you see, he must have used some form of trickery to escape. He was, I can assure you Monsieur, a genius. He said that he was running away. He had come to our home take her with him. I…I couldn't let that happen. I sent everyone from the house and we fought. At some point we must have knocked over one of the gas lanterns. The room began to fill with smoke. I hit him over the head and he passed out. I left him there."

"So you say that the last you saw of him, he was unconscious in your house and for all you know, he could be anywhere right now. This could all be a ruse to protect your wife. Why should I believe you, Raoul?"

"Believe me," Raoul threw a charred white mask on the desk. "He is dead."


	35. Epilogue

A/N: Woohoo, we broke 300 reviews! Thanks to everyone for their encouragement. Well, I think this is where my story must end. Putting the characters through anything else now just seems…forced. So, enjoy the final installment of the story!

A pair of lips softly brushed Christine's cheek, causing the smile on her face to widen. She pulled back from her husband's arms to flatten the creases he had made in her gown when he embraced her. She looked to her mirror frowning slightly, pressing a hand against her stomach as she turned to the side.

"What is it?" Raoul asked, stepping behind her and kissing her neck.

"My figure. Do you suppose it shall ever be as it was?" she responded, her eyes still on the reflection in the mirror.

Raoul released a low chuckle. "Christine, you are a mother. Your body has nurtured life and brought it into this world. You may not look as did when you were younger, but you will always be beautiful."

The lines in her face smoothed as her frown slipped into a small smile, her eyes laughing. "You really are annoyingly perfect, Monsieur. You couldn't let me be unhappy. Not even for one little second, could you?"

And truthfully, Christine hadn't been unhappy for a single moment in the past two years that they had spent residing in the Opera house. She and Raoul had spent countless hours chasing Christophe across the stage, through the dressing rooms and dormitories. They had helped him explore the Opera Populaire as they had years ago. He had grown considerably in that time, spoiled by those who shared his inhabitance. He received sweets from the ballet rats, toys from the stagehands, all of whom thought him the most adorable child they had ever seen. Christophe was becoming more and more like his father every day, due in most part to the fact that he longed to emulate him. And he had found an extended family in 'Grand-mere Giry' and 'Tante Meg'. He had been the first to offer grand-mere a handkerchief for the joyous tears that slid down her cheeks as Meg was married.

Raoul had spent his time working fervently to produce earnings that would help support his family, having spent a great deal of their money with his purchase of the Opera Populaire. With the money that it earned and a few wise investments in various businesses and a vineyard, he had finally acquired enough money to commission the building of their new chateau. Raoul had personally overseen the plans for their new home and the hiring of the workers, but had allowed a foreman to take his place while the actual construction began. He opted instead to spend his days in the Opera Populaire with his wife and growing son. He was in especially good spirits this night, knowing that his family would be living in their new home within the week. The chateau had been reconstructed almost exactly as it was, with but one exception. An expansive guest house was built where the old stables once stood. As they built it, the workers wondered why the Vicomte would need such large accommodations. Many mused that it was larger than their own homes!

Inspector Reinard had longed since closed his investigation into the escape of the murderous Phantom, finding nothing to incriminate the Vicomte de Chagny or his wife. A thorough search of the ashes that had once been their grand chateau revealed nothing. Reinard was suspicious, but he had been told by his detectives that any body that might have been there would more than likely have been dragged off by wolves or wild dogs. He fared no better with his investigation into the murder of the Duchess Anjou. No one came forward with any information about her mysterious death, and the case soon faded into obscurity.

A knock on the door produced yet another bouquet of flowers to adorn Christine's dressing room. Shortly after she and her family had settled in to their new home, Carlotta had been claimed by consumption. Christine pitied her, for though she truly detested the woman, tuberculosis was a horrible fate that she wouldn't wish to befall anyone. It was at that time that the managers had approached her and asked her to return to the stage. She had agreed, on the condition that her position as the leading soprano not interfere with her desire to be with her family. Andre and Firmin consented, but to their dismay they would soon be seeking yet another replacement for their diva.

Christine hadn't thought it possible that she could have another child, or that she truly wished to after her ordeal, but their family had been blessed with the arrival of Aurore. She had been a difficult birth, and Christine feared that she would lose yet another child. But after a few torturous, uncertain days, the doctor had given them both a positive prognosis. Though Christine could spend hours gazing into those sparkling blue eyes, Aurore truly was her father's daughter. As content as she was in Christine's arms, she cried out whenever she heard her father's voice and would not quiet herself until it was he who held her. She lay sleeping peacefully now in her bassinet.

The door to Christine's dressing room creaked open again. Madame Giry stood in the opening, an exasperated expression on her face. "They are ready to start, Christine. Hurry along."

"Papa, we shall be late _again_. I don't want to miss the beginning! _PLEASE!_" Christophe, now four years old, called out in frustration. He was gently tugging at Raoul's hand.

Christine lowered herself down to her son. "Give maman a kiss," she commanded, tapping her cheek. Christophe's lips hurriedly pushed against her skin.

"Can we go _now_?" he called to his father again.

Raoul looked at him sternly. "Mind your manners, Christophe. You are being quite rude."

Christophe slowly lowered his head, speaking softly, "I am sorry Papa."

Raoul fell down upon one knee. He lifted Christophe's chin with his finger, giving him a warm smile. "I accept your apology."

Christophe returned his father's smile and threw his arms about his neck. Raoul lifted him up and gently patted his back.

"Bon chance, chéri," he said to Christine, placing a kiss on her other cheek.

Henriette sat on the divan near the bassinet, happily knitting a small pair of socks for Aurore. "Bon chance," she resounded.

As they stepped outside the door, Raoul lowered Christophe to the floor. He held tightly to his hand as they made their way to their box. Christophe happily greeted everyone who passed by. They finally took their seats as the curtain was pulled back to reveal the performers. Christophe playfully swung his legs, being unable to reach the ground. Both he and his father watched with rapt attention as Christine performed. Raoul was as captivated by her as he had been the first time he had seen her perform.

The crowd rose to its feet, the echo of their clapping hands ringing off the walls as the performers stepped out for their final bow. Christine curtsied graciously, looking up to the box and smiling happily at her family. Placing her fingers to her lips, she then raised her hand towards her husband and son. The applause and cheers continued for several minutes as flowers were thrown to the stage. Raoul turned his head towards Box Five with a knowing smile, gazing at the darkness within. Amidst all the commotion, it was only he who could hear the thunderous applause that emanated from within.

A/N: Well, there it is. You all knew he was alive, I knew I wasn't gonna fool anyone. Reinard was really the only one who I needed to believe that Erik was dead. Anyways…you know you want to leave me a little something. Don't ya? Go ahead, just push the little button. Love it or hate, whatever. Just let me know.


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